Sunshine and Kisses Make the Rain Go Away
by butterflies-and-broken-dreams
Summary: "You always have to play the victim, don't you? Everything about you is fake. And don't pretend like you don't try, because you do. You try harder than any of us." NextGen multi-chapter.
1. Prologue

Warnings: This is just the prologue so it's not overly heavy in it, but this story will contain references to alcohol, sex (non-graphic), use language and maybe violence. Overall, it should be suitable for a T rating.

* * *

_Dominique_.

_Dominique_.

_Dominique_.

Her name is on my lips as I awake, barely remembering exactly who she is, until it hits me (after the trace of sleep has been fully removed from my brain.)

Dominique Weasley. It's been two years since I thought about her, after she was 'transferred' (expelled) to Beauxbatons. (something about a rumour that got out of hand).

Not that she would have thought about me, the only times she deigned to acknowledge my existence was to insult me, and I her.

This often ended with social humiliation on my part, being moderately unpopular, rarely charming and barely witty, an argument with Dominique Weasley was not the best of choices on my part.

There also came the fact that she was a bitch, to put it simply enough.

If one were to tell her this, she would toss back that long mane of...blonde and inform them that it was '_the_ bitch, sweetheart, and don't you forget it.

Can you have a self-identifying bitch? Probably.

Girls are _weird_.

In the three years that she did attend Hogwarts, Weasley was sorted into Slytherin (of course), which she felt gave her the right to pick on innocent little Hufflepuffs like...oh, right: _me_.

Can I just reiterate the _bitch_ part of her personality?

To summarise, Dominique and I hate (hate_d_?) each other. So when she moved to France, I wasn't exactly on the top of her owling list. Mainly I'd forgotten she'd existed, as had the rest of Hogwarts (after a two-week mourning period from her followers).

Hence my surprise at dreaming of her, actually _remembering_ the girl I had tried to ignore.

I brush it away as I rise to my feet groggily, wiping my eyes and heading into the bathroom.

"Don't be late for the train, Alex!" calls a perky, overly-chipper voice (my mum),

Train? What train?

Oh, _shit_.

I pull on my trousers, practically stumbling over my feet, struggling to get them through each leg hole, throwing random items into the trunk that has been sitting there since the start of summer.

It's a mess, but I cannot afford to waste time packing.

"Can't we side-along?" I ask my mum. She shakes her head and laughs.

"In front of all the muggles? Hell no."

I hop into the back of the car, pulling out the scrappy black notebook from my pocket and scribbling in it: words, phrases, inspiration, anything that comes to me.

'I'll make something of it later', I promise myself as the car screeches to a halt.

After planting a kiss on my mothers cheek, I step out, breathing in the London fumes that somehow seem to welcome me.

Then I stop dead in my tracks.

The girl in front of me lowers her shades, just enough for me to catch a glimpse of those iridescent blue eyes.

With a flick of her hair (scraped back into an almost effortless bun, not a strand out of place and a cool upturning of the lips (a smile that could make any man cower in fear) Dominique Weasley turns her back and I am left, feeling hopelessly lost and confused once more.

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter!

OK so this was the prologue. The other chapters will be longer, I promise.

Virtual hug to Anonymous for reviewing my other story Storm and Hurricane.

I hope to have the next chapter (which is roughly four thousand words) up by tomorrow but here's a teaser anyway:

In which Alex finally makes a friend, meets a girl _and _has a mistaken identity, Louis Weasley makes a appearance, as does Albus Potter, someone acts creepy and Dominique, as always, is a bitch.


	2. Versace and Hufflepuffs

I stand there, gaping as Dominique Weasley examines the electric pink nail polish (banned at Hogwarts, but nobody ever gets into trouble for it) on her littlest finger, ever maintaining that air of I-don't-care.

She's aged, I notice, being gone for two years does that to a person. Not in a bad way though, Dominique Weasley has somehow come back a little bit blonder, a little bit slimmer and a lot more dazzling.

This is very, _very_ bad.

Let me explain something to you: beautiful people succeed in life, no matter what. Uglier, _smarter_ people struggle along behind, with a few rising to the top, but the others being tossed away like Tuesdays rubbish. Sad, but true.

People fawn over beauty, praise it, cling onto it, which is one of the reasons Dominique Weasley was so popular in her third year.

Because she's part veela.

This year...Merlin knows what they'll do. Probably elect her Minister of Magic, where she'll ban wearing the colour orange and take over France.

I'm not kidding.

"Dobbs." she says, still looking at that perfectly-manicured nail. "You still go here then?"

I shut my mouth then open it again. "Dobb-_son_, Weasley, say it with me, Dobb-_son_."

"Whatever." she snaps. "Walk behind me. I don't want people to think we came here _together_."

I watch as her driver unloads two or three trunks, pink and purple in colour (overflowing, no doubt, with clothes) She directs him to pick them up for her, then flounces off in the other direction, leaving me to stand there, mouth still open, staring after her.

_Merlin_.

* * *

"Why are you back?" I ask, jogging to catch up to her.

"Not that it's any of your _business,_" she says, gearing up to go through the barrier. "But I was expelled from Beauxbatons."

"For what?" I say, incredulous.

"Again, none of your business."

I don't push it.

She takes her trolley and shoves through the brick wall. I fumble around for my stuff and then follow, shouting "Wait!" as I go.

"We're late." she tells me, sticking her nose in the air in disdain. "Everyone is already on the train."

"So Professor McG just agreed to take you back?"

Dominique rolls her eyes at me, but answers anyway. "Professor McGonagall has known my family for generations. Of _course_ she did."

She hops over the gap and onto the train, lugging her bags behind her.

"There'll be barely any spaces left!" I call after her.

"I'm Dominique Weasley. They'll _make_ space."

* * *

Sometime later, we slide into a small compartment, greeted by the gasps of several first years, who immediately scatter, much to the delight of Dominique, who gives a triumphant grin.

"I've still got it." she says, more to herself than me.

The carriage door slides open and several wide-eyed sixteen year old girls pour in, accompanied by the loudest squeal I have ever heard. Hastily, they toss me their bags (which I put away, sighing) before flopping into the compartment, practically kneeling at Dominique's feet.

"I can't believe it!" the obviously fake-blonde one gushes, making gigantic gestures with her hands. "Belinda -" the brunette on her right blushes and raises her hand - "said she saw you, but I wasn't entirely sure it was -"

"Courtney," Dominique cuts in coolly, icy smile playing on her lips. "What on _earth_ is that thing on your head?"

The girl trembles and picks up the plastic orange headband, sliding it to Dominique. Her slender fingers pick it up, then put it back down in disgust.

"Orange?" she raises an eyebrow. "Clearly I've been away for too long. Bin it. _Now. _Bertha -"

"Belinda."

"Go get my brother. I want him to know his big sister is back."

She nods her head so viciously I think it could fall off, then scampers out of the room.

Dominique points to the redhead. "Tell me everything that's happened in the last two years while I've been away. And Dobbs - what are you still doing here?"

"There isn't anywhere else to sit."

She sighs. "Fine. Stay. But for merlins sake, _don't_ talk."

* * *

"And Abigail Arrington slept with Louis - "

"That tart!" Dominique says furiously. "I didn't say she could have him!"

"I know!" the redhead replies with, if possible, the same amount of rage. "We cut off all contact with her after that, don't worry."

This seems to console Dominique, who motions for her to continue.

"You know that girl in Charms?"

"That's about half of the class, Rochelle." Dominique responds dryly, taking out her nail file.

"The really pale one, with the black hair and blue eyes. Know her?"

"Vaguely."

"Courtney -" all heads swivel round to the sulking blonde in the corner - "Found her..." Rochelle lowers her voice, "_Medication_."

"Medication?" Dominique asks, finally seeming interested. "For what?"

"Depression." Rochelle tells her, pursing her lips.

"Freak." Dominique giggles and I feel like slapping her.

A knock comes at the door.

"Open it, Courtney."

Before she has a chance to do anything, the door slides open anyway and out struts a very blonde, very tall, very muscular male, _very _angry in appearance. Courtney almost faints at the sight.

"Brother." Dominique smirks and Louis swings round to face her.

"What -" he says through gritted teeth, "the hell are you doing here?"

"Beauxbatons couldn't take me anymore, so they dumped me back here." she tosses her hair. "Why? Aren't you happy to see me?"

"I was only happy when you left!"

"That's not very nice." I mumble under my breath.

Louis jerks a thumb in my direction. "Who the hell is he?"

"My good friend Alex Dobbs." Dominique lies, and I can't even be bothered to correct her on my surname.

"Good shagging partner, knowing you." Louis snorts. I try to tell him that it is definitely _not_ like that, but Dominique reacts first.

"I'm back, little brother." Dominique says, throwing him that dazzling pearl-white smile. "Deal with it."

* * *

My eyes try to avoid the Slytherin corner of the room as I pile the beef and yorkshire puddings onto my plate, dodging the vegetable bowl. I think I'm the only one _not _looking there, everyone else seems to be gazing over at the ice-queen, spectating over her return. I give in and sneak a tiny glimpse. Dominique is, of course, loving it, lapping all the attention in, nearly purring with pride.

I look back at Louis, who seems preoccupied with talking to his cousin Rose, who has joined the Gryffindor table, but is, like me, occasionally peeking at _her_.

"Hi." comes an almost tiny voice besides me. The boy runs a hand through his hair nervously.

"Hey." I say pleasantly enough. "Welcome to the badgers. I'm Alex."

"Albus." he tells me.

My mind snaps back to the sorting. Albus...Potter?

"Dominique's cousin?"

He looks at me strangely. "Usually I get 'Harry's son'...but yeah, I'm Dominique's cousin."

"Your cousin is pretty famous around here." I tell him.

He shrugs. "I guess so."

* * *

Almost as soon as I leave the great hall, I am being thrown into a broom closet and slammed against the wall.

"Stay away from my sister, Dobbs." Louis hisses. "She doesn't need some guy using her right now."

I snort. "She's not exactly _innocent_."

His grip around my throat tightens.

"It's not like that between us." I choke, praying that he loosens his hands. "We're not even friends."

"You're sick."

"I mean, she wouldn't touch me with a ten metre pole. Besides, she's been back for what, a day? Even Dominique Weasley doesn't work that fast."

"Keep it like that." Louis growls and I roll my eyes at him.

"I can't guarantee she's not sleeping with Daniel Charlton though!" I call after him as he exits the closet.

Daniel Charlton - seventh year Slytherin Quidditch captain, known to be the object of Dominique's affections since first year. Dated Anna O'Donnell (sixth year Ravenclaw) in his fourth year (our third), which ultimately resulted in her exclusion from Dominique's clique.

Now she's back, it's a sure thing that Dominique is going to try to win him over, which definitely means trouble for everyone around.

* * *

It starts at breakfast the following morning, first day of classes.

Before I continue, let me just say that Dominique Weasley is known for _revenge_.

So most of Hogwarts has an inkling that it is down to her when exactly six girls (scattered across the houses, one Hufflepuff, two Slytherins, one Gryffindor and two Ravenclaws) are covered in bright orange goo the minute they sit down for some scrambled eggs and a pancake.

To a relatively indifferent person (which normally, would've been me) there would have been no link whatsoever between the six girls, but, having unfortunately been there for the recounting of the two-year gossip to Dominique, I knew exactly what their crime was.

Each of them had dated (or, been rumoured to date) Daniel Charlton while Dominique was away.

Professor McGonagall claps her hands together frantically, calling everyones attention to her, but its almost impossible not to stare at the now utterly-humiliated six girls standing there, blinking back orange paint from their eyes. One of them (the Gryffindor I think) is crying, wailing something about her hair never being the same again.

I can't help it. I laugh.

"ENOUGH!" booms McGonagall and everyone focuses back on her. Her nostrils flash with rage, eyes burning holes into us all as she speaks. "I will deal with this later. Get to classes!" she swishes her wand and my untouched piece of toast vanishes from sight. "All of you!"

I hurry out, only to bump into a very orange Hufflepuff, who smears me in paint.

"Oh my god!" she says, apologising profusely. "Let me clean you up. Scourgify!"

About a centimetre of paint disappears.

"I'll try." I smile at her and wave my wand until it's all gone and she is once again, normal. "Alex." I offer my hand, which she shakes shyly.

"Flavia." Seeing my face, she explains. "My dad's side of the family is Brazilian. Fifth year."

"Cool." We both stand there awkwardly until she checks her watch and pulls a face.

"I need to get to Herbology, sorry."

"Oh, no, don't apologise." I tell her, stepping around so she can get through. "Bye!"

Flavia.

Huh.

* * *

Five minutes later and hoping that my professor doesn't notice, I slip into the last empty seat in the DADA classroom, pulling out my textbook and pretending to read from it.

I take a look at the girl next to me. She's tall, yet slender and almond-skinned, with an untameable black ball of frizziness for hair, a freckled face and eyes the colour of kit-kats. She smiles and passes me a note.

_Hi - R_

_What does the R stand for? - A_

_I'll tell you what the R stands for if you tell me what the A stands for - R_

_Alex Dobbson, you? - A_

_Roxanne Weasley - R_

_Weasley? How many of you are there? - A_

She grins then hesitates, quill hovering over the parchment.

_...a lot - R_

_Dominique's cousin? - A_

_I'm nothing like her - R_

_How so? - A_

_I didn't get expelled - R_

_Yet,__ - A_

_I'm not a bitch - R_

_I can't quite confirm that, considering I've known you for all of ten minutes - A_

_Well maybe you should get to know me then? Friends? - R_

_I don't exactly have a lot - A_

_Then we are in the same predicament - R_

_So shall we enjoy solitude together - A_

"Detention, Alex and Roxanne, for passing notes in class." Professor Pugh drones over the top of her Witch Weekly magazine. "Tomorrow night, at seven. Ten points from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw."

_Told you you were going to get expelled someday - A_

_It's a detention not a death warrant, Alex - R_

_Sarcasm is harder to read on paper - A_

* * *

"Hi!" I say, a little too eagerly, pushing my stuff to the seat opposite Flavia. She cracks a smile at me.

"Thanks for helping with the orange goo earlier."

"Dominique's a bitch." I inform her, as if she didn't know already.

"I don't know why she targeted me though." Flavia's face creases into a frown.

"I think I might. Did you date Daniel Charlton last year?"

"No." she says, confused. "He was my Charms tutor though."

"Dominique thought you two had dated. Hence her little piece of 'vengeance.'"

"Oh." Flavia shakes her hair (medium-brown with subtle streaks of blonde) out of her face. "Sorry I was tetchy with you earlier. It's just Herbology is my favourite class."

"Mine's Charms." I tell her.

"Help me." she begs. "I have no idea what any of this means."

I take the sheet from her and begin to fill it in, explaining the questions until she understands it properly.

"Thank you." she gushes as we finish. "You are _amazing." _

"No problem. I have to do my transfiguration homework now so..." I trail off awkwardly.

"Oh, that's fine. I have Potions to finish anyway."

We sit there in silence for a while, completing our respective homework, me occasionally sneaking glances at her over my paper, until she begins to sing quietly to herself.

"Are you humming?"

She looks up and blushes bright red. "...yes? Sorry, I just have this ABBA addiction and um -"

"What's ABBA?" I ask.

"You need to see Mama Mia."

"What in Merlin's name is Mama Mia?"

She just smiles.

* * *

The door to the Great Hall slowly creaks open and out steps a soaked, slightly shivering person of the male kind.

"Am I late?" he calls and half the girls swoon, Professor Pugh nearly faints and even McGonagall smiles a little (for the first time in about fifty years).

"Not at all. Come on in, Mr. Day."

He makes his way up to the teachers table, greeted by whispers that he silences purely by _smirking._

I can tell that _this_ is the sort of guy all the girls fall for. In fact, half of them are already sighing out his name and discussing the colour of his eyes. I sneak a peek at Flavia, who doesn't seem impressed and I feel a little thrill go through my body.

Professor McGonagall clears her throat. "I'd like to introduce Hogwarts latest idea - our new school counsellor: Mr. Day."

"Please, Minerva," he says and the whole student body gasps. "They can call me Scott."

And _everyone _bursts into applause.

* * *

"He graduated two years ago." someone says and the whole common room hangs onto their words. "He was friends with my brother."

"Why does Hogwarts need a counsellor?" little Albus Potter asks, confused.

"Probably so we don't end up with another Tom Riddle," they reply. "We don't want another war on our hands."

"He's _fit,"_ interjects the blonde in the corner and every girl around sighs dreamily. "I'll bet he's got a six-pack."

"Do you think he'll let us see?" asks another.

"Why don't you ask him, Emily, see what he says?"

I turn around to find the the sarcastic comment comes from Flavia, who grins at the sight of me, and plop down by my side.

"You don't like this Scott guy then?" I try to hide my smile.

"Seem like a bit of a prick." Flavia shrugs. "We've all got appointments with him on Saturday."

"We have to give up our weekends, just to spend time with him?"

"I'd happily give up my time for _him_." Emily murmurs, rolling her eyes back towards her forehead.

"He's a loser." Flavia says. "Forget about him."

* * *

I sigh and butter my slice of toast, other hand stabbing my sausage with my fork. "I can't believe it's only the second day." I complain to nobody in particular.

"I know."

I turn around and spot Roxanne leaning against the doorway, grinning at me. "Why aren't you eating in the Great Hall?" she asks.

"I didn't feel like it. Why, were you looking?"

"Being your only friend, it is my duty."

"You're not my _only_ friend." I mumble.

"Oh really? Enlighten me."

"Flavia." I decide.

"That Brazilian girl? It doesn't count if you want to _shag_ them."

I start coughing manically, a look of incredulity on my face. "What?"

"Don't deny it, lover-boy."

"Maybe." I mutter, face red and she smiles in triumph. "I can't believe my only friend is some weird girl who I've known for about a day."

"People can learn a lot in a day."

"Like?"

"Question-game time!" she says in a sing-song voice.

"Huh?"

"Do _not _tell me you've never played the question game."

"Never have I ever played the question game." I repeat with a straight face.

"No, never have I ever is _different." _Roxanne sighs, explaining to me the wonders of the Question game.

"What's your favourite colour?"

"Way to start smart, genius." She rolls her eyes. "Orange."

"Bet Dominique doesn't like that."

"As if I _care_. What's your blood status?"

"Half-blood." I tell her. "Not that it matters. Favourite class?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Even with Pugh teaching it?"

"Even with." she smiles. "Although this year I have to sit next to this total dork. I think you know him?"

It takes me a few minutes to work out just who she's talking about. "Hey!"

"Opinion on the counsellor?"

"I'll make up my mind this weekend." I decide. "Why do you think your cousins a bitch?"

"I accidentally flushed one of her barbies when we were five. So she ripped the head off of my teddy bear. Then when we were in second year, I ruined her favourite dress, so she told everyone that I was secretly a lesbian."

"I don't remember that."

She cringes. "I'm pretty sure everyone else does. But," Roxanne pauses. "She makes _amazing_ cupcakes."

"Really?" I raise an eyebrow. She nods.

"Better than mine. I bake." she adds helpfully.

"Huh. Roxanne Weasley: baker."

"See!" she giggles . "We know each other now."

"I guess so."

* * *

"What've you got first?" I ask, walking her back through the corridor.

"History of magic."

"You're taking it for N.E. ?

"Yeah. You?"

"Potions. Speaking of, here it is." I turn right and wave her off.

"Bye!" she shouts a little too loudly and suddenly every face is staring at me. Thankfully Slughorn arrives and directs everyone to go inside and stand against the back wall.

"I have your new seating plan." he booms, to our groans of disappointment.

"Excuse me, _sir_?" It's Dominique. Of course it is. "_I_ thought - and, I mean, correct me if I'm _wrong_ here, that we were able to sit where we _like_?"

Slughorn peers over his glasses nervously. "Miss Weasley. In some classes, yes, but ever since an accident-on-purpose with amortentia last year, that rule has been revoked. Your seat is here with Mr. Dobbs at the front of the class."

I clear my throat. "Dobb-_son _sir."

"What?"

"Never mind."

I slip into the seat next to Dominique, who is examining her make-up in a pocket-mirror, barely even noticing that I am there.

"I saw you with my cousin." she says, applying some more eye-liner. "Are you shagging her?"

"No!" I protest.

"Why not?" Dominique asks. "She could use it. Stuck-up bitch."

I keep my mouth firmly _shut_ at this remark.

"Louis won't like it though," she continues, "He's very protective of this family. He punched Teddy when he found out he had slept with Victoire."

"Are these names supposed to mean anything to me?" I choose not to tell her about my little closet-meeting with Louis.

"Victoire. Seventh-year Ravenclaw prefect? My _sister_? _Merlin_, Dobbs, you really _don't_ know anything."

"I didn't know you had a sister."

"I'm nothing like her." I snort at the irony of the comment. "She's a redhead. Doesn't like attention."

"She really _isn't_ like you then."

"Was that supposed to be _funny_, Dobbs? There's nothing _wrong_ with wanting attention."

"Like there's nothing wrong with starting a rumour that your cousin is gay."

She stares at me. "That was four years ago. I barely knew what _Versace_ was back then."

"I don't know what that is _now_."

"Whatever." She opens her potions book to page one hundred and five. "Alihotsy draught. This should be relatively simple. Get the cauldron."

"_Please_," I mutter under my breath, fetching a pewter cauldron from the back of the room.

"Alihotsy extract?" she asks when I return. Sighing, I go and gather the ingredients.

"Peppermint." she demands.

I chuck it to her.

"What do you think of the new counsellor?" I ask, in an effort to be polite.

"I don't see the big deal over him. Daniel Charlton could kick his arse very easily in a fight. He's not even _that_ hot. His eyes are _far_ too close together and I very highly doubt he has a six-pack underneath that shirt. I don't believe that little rumour for one second. I'll bet _Courtney_ started it. Nowhere near dangerous enough."

"_Dangerous_ enough?"

"I dated a vampire while I was in France. He almost killed me, but it was _so_ worth it."

I wince. "_Way_ too much information."

"Even _you _are hotter than _him_ and believe Dobbs, that's saying _something_."

* * *

"What are you doing here?" I ask her, as she tosses her tall, slender body into the nearest armchair she can find. "Nobody let you in."

"I recall Hufflepuff being a _welcoming_ community, Dobbs, or was I wrong?" Dominique lifts one of her perfectly-plucked eyebrows and sighs at me.

"How _did_ you get in?"

"I know the members of your house aren't as..._intellectually stimulated_...as some of us, but _honestly_, don't you think your security methods are a little lax? Tapping out Helga Hufflepuff onto a barrel is a hell of a lot easier than it sounds."

I huff in frustration. "What do you want anyway?"

"My cousin."

"If you haven't noticed, Roxanne is a _Ravenclaw_." I say. "She'll be along in fifteen minutes if you want her."

"The _other_ one, you _moron_. About..." she gestures with her hands, "Yay high?"

"What do you want to speak to Albus for?"

She pouts. "Family matters, Dobbs, not that it's any of you business."

"I think he's with another cousin of yours."

"Well that narrows it down."

"Small...ginger...of the female kind."

"Rose." she mutters under her breath. "Goodbye, Dobbs, unpleasure doing business with you."

"Wait!" I call. "Why do you need him?"

But she's already gone.

* * *

"Truth or dare." Freddie Gilbert proposes that afternoon in the Hufflepuff common room. "Come on Dobbs, you know you want to."

"Fine." I respond. "But only for a bit, I've got detention."

He glances over to where Roxanne is sitting. "Your hot friend playing?"

"I'll ask." I tell him. "And don't get all pervy with her."

"Truth or dare!" I call over to her, and she looks up and grins.

"You actually know this one?"

"You bet."

"Flavia!" Freddie grins and Roxanne nudges me. "You playing?"

"I guess." she pulls up an armchair.

"I'll go first." Freddie says and everyone groans. "You, Dobbs' cute friend, truth or dare?"

"Dare." Roxanne decides and I cringe, waiting for what Freddie has to say.

"Kiss me." he leers and she grimaces.

"Not on your life."

"You know the rules. Forfeit is running through the Great Hall naked."

She flinches, then, shuddering in disgust, presses her mouth against his in a short kiss.

"I'm going to need mouthwash." she tells everyone, wiping away her lipstick, most of which is on Freddie.

"Pick someone then." someone in the middle of the room calls out.

"Flavia -" she says, beaming at me. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth." Flavia stutters out.

"Who do you like?"

"Nobody." Flavia decides and disappointed, Roxanne tells her to choose somebody else.

"Alex."

"Dare." I say, without really thinking, regretting it immediately afterwards.

"I dare you to..." she looks around hopelessly before her gaze settles on a sign pinned up to the Hufflepuff notice board. "Try out for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team."

* * *

"Don't do it." Roxanne tells me as we scrub at the golden plaques that line the hall.

"I've got no choice, have I?"

"Believe me, Alex, you'll be a whole lot more humiliated after you try out for the Quidditch team than if you ran through the Great Hall naked."

"How so?"

"Alex," she says, putting her hands on her hips. "I've been your friend for two days and in those two days, you've dropped your pen approximately thirteen times, failed to catch a ball that was thrown from two metres away and fallen off your seat twice. Can you even _ride_ a broom?"

"No." I admit.

"Besides, if you run through the hall naked, maybe you'll be as popular as 'Scott.'" she winks at me.

"Yes, but by then I'll be _dead_ from the embarrassment! I'm not doing it."

"You have to. Either that or break your arm falling off your broom."

"How likely is it that I'll get into the team?"

"No chance whatsoever."

"That's it." I decide. "I'm trying out for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team."

* * *

It was longer than expected, but I thought it was okay.

I don't own:

Harry Potter

ABBA

Mama Mia

Versace

The next chapter...

In which Alex tries out for the Quidditch team, meets Scott Day and has a lucky accident, Roxanne gets an offer, Daniel Charlton and Teddy Lupin make appearances and Dominique is as she always is: a bitch.


	3. Quidditch Trials and ABBA songs

I knock on the cool mahogany door and stand there for a while, just staring at my feet, twitching them up and then down.

"Come in!" Scott calls and I snap back to attention as a very nervous-looking Albus Potter exits the room.

"He's alright." Albus whispers. "Just a bit _weird_."

I step around him and enter the room.

"Nice place." I offer him, pulling out the chair from underneath his desk.

"Thank you."

"How long am I going to be here?"

Scott leans forward, green eyes twinkling with something of concern. "However long you need, buddy."

"Well, I don't really need -"

"But at least fifteen minutes." he cuts in. "How has this year been for you so far, Mr. Dobbs?"

"Actually, it's Dobb-_son_, sir."

"Please," he says, emitting a low chuckle. "Call me Scott."

I ignore him. "It's only been a week into term so I'm not exactly sure yet-"

"But surety...is the key for success, no?"

"_What_?"

He scribbles something down on the notepad.

"I am _not_ inarticulate!"

"Mr. Dobbs, please calm down. I assure you, this is a very safe and nurturing environment and nobody is going to hurt you."

"I don't - I what - " I splutter.

He clears his throat.

"Do you ever feel like you're on an emotional roller coaster, Mr. Dobbs?"

"What's a roller coaster?"

"Have you ever taken drugs, Mr. Dobbs?"

"No."

"Positive?"

"About as positive as I am that you never studied psychology."

"Personal remarks like these aren't going to help you advance in your own life, Mr. Dobbs."

I get up, kick over the too small (condescendingly so) orange (Dominique would throw a fit) wooden chair and walk out.

* * *

"How was he?" Roxanne asks.

"Awful." I tell her. "Truly."

"What _happened_?"

In full detail, I explain to her just exactly what went on in Scott Day's office. By the end, she is in stitches, practically on the floor just from laughing.

"Alex Dobbson...rebel!" she wheezes, taking my hand to help herself up.

"Don't _laugh_." I say indignantly, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "Who uses the word _inarticulate_ anyway?"

"You."

"I do not! Comparing me to that...man...is just outrageous! I am _nothing_ like him!"

"I've got him in ten minutes." she says, ignoring my protest. "Should I just skip the appointment?"

"Depends." I shrug, slowly returning to my normal state. "Would you rather spend fifteen minutes listening to completely useless drive or get detention?"

"I'll go." Roxanne decides. "But only to see how it is."

"You'd better get going then. His office is on the sixth floor."

"It can't be that bad, can it?" she wonders aloud.

"Yes," I tell her. "It can."

"Maybe that's just your opinion. You did...overreact. A lot."

"Go then." I say, smirking slightly. "And I bet by the end of it, you'll completely agree with me."

* * *

"ABBA." I say, settling down on the armchair besides Flavia. "You never really explained what it is."

"A band." she tells me. "Do wizards have those?"

"_Do wizards have those_?" I repeat, my tone disbelieving. "Uh, the _Weird Sisters_? _Conjunctivitis Curse?" _

"Seriously?" she giggles. "Those are _bands_?"

"Amazing ones." I argue. "I have all of their albums. At least their names make sense, because what in Merlin's name is an 'ABBA?' And explain to me this whole _Mama_ _Mia _thing."

"It's a film. Well technically it's a song, but they made a film based on ABBA and that's what they called it."

"Film...film...film..." I rack my brain, trying to remember fourth year muggle studies (I dropped that subject as soon as I could) "One of those moving-picture things?"

"We should watch it together sometime. You'd _love_ Amanda Seyfried - she's like a _nice, __singing_ Dominique Weasley and Meryl Streep is just an _amazing _actress."

I nod my head absent-mindedly, brain focusing on the implications of exactly _what _she said.

'We should watch it _together_.'

* * *

"Where are your cronies?" I ask, pulling out the seat next to Dominique Weasley, whose table is stacked with books. She scowls and moves up a chair.

"Courtney is somewhere stalking my brother, Bertha -"

"Belinda." I remind her, rolling my eyes.

"Is at her meeting with Mr. Nauseating, and Rochelle has detention."

"I bet you're _lonely_." I tease.

"I have a stack of homework, so no, I'm not." Dominique sniffs. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I'm sorry, I thought this was a _public_ library."

"There's an empty table over _there_."

"I would be all on my own."

"A sensation, I don't doubt, you are used to." Dominique retorts. "Where's my cousin?"

"Which one? There are about a hundred."

"You _know_ which one. The one you seem to be having a sordid little affair with."

I snort. "Roxanne and I are _friends_."

Dominique coughs something out which sounds oddly like 'with benefits' before turning back to her transfiguration textbook. Her gaze drifts to across the room, before she lets out a shrill squeal.

"Shh!" she hisses.

"I wasn't talking."

"Seriously, shut _up_ Dobbs!"

I follow the direction of her eyes, finally settling on Daniel Charlton who sits across the room, studying a DADA textbook, ruffling that overly-gelled blonde hair while doing so.

I sit up straighter when I spot who he's with, hear the familiar tune of what I presume is 'Mama Mia', see the familiar streaky brown hair and the colourful floral-print dress from barely hours ago.

"What's _he_ doing with _her_?"

"What's _she_ doing with _him_?"

"_You_ fancy _her_? She's a _tart_!"

"She's not a _tart_." I protest, but Dominique has lost focus and is, once more, gazing across the room at Flavia and Daniel.

"Little bitch." Dominique mutters as Flavia giggles (a short, tinkly sound) at something he says.

"He's only her Charms tutor."

"Keep telling yourself that, next thing you know they'll be married. She doesn't even have any fashion sense, for Merlin's sake, just look at that dress. And that _make_-_up_!"

"I think she looks pretty."

"_You_ don't know your Chanel from your Gucci."

"Who are they?"

She continues. "If they do get married, she'll probably wear purple or some ungodly hippy colour like that. Merlin knows she's got it in her."

"You didn't even know who she was until the rumour spread around that _they," _I point to Daniel and Flavia, whose heads are pressed together over the book, so close they could nearly, _almost_ kiss. "were dating."

"I have several fifth years willing to do my research for me. Did you know that her parents are both _reflexologists_?" Dominique shudders at the last word. "It's not even a proper profession. No wonder she can't afford something _decent_ to wear."

"Look, Dominique," I sigh. "Instead of complaining and rambling on about fashion, why don't you actually _do_ something about it?"

"Oh, I plan to."

"What?" I ask warily.

"You're going to ask Flavia to Hogsmeade, Dobbs." she tells me, flashing that pearly white grin, the one that gives off the air of a madwoman (who so happens to wear Louis Vuitton). "And I'm going to do the same with Daniel."

* * *

"What?" I hiss under my breath. "Are you _insane_?" I can't just ask Flavia _out. _That's like, the first social rule. You have to wait for the _girl_ to make her move first_."_

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is."

"Look, Dobbs, I think we both agree _I_ know more about society and that is complete, utter _bullshit_. The first social rule is to never wear tights as trousers."

"I'm not asking her out."

She smiles, as though I have just told a joke of some sort and with a look of amused disbelief on her face says, "Of course you are. Do it now."

"_No_!"

"Fine but soon enough, we both have to have fulfilled the deal."

"I never made a deal!"

"Consider the benefits, Dobb - " she stops herself and takes a deep breath, "_son_. We separate the two for the time being, or, at least the most romantic opportunity they get; thereby limiting the opportunities they have to discover potential feelings hidden beneath the surface."

I stare at her.

"Let me dumb it down for you - _I_ get to date Daniel - _you_ get to date Flavia."

Slowly enough, I nod, not entirely sure what I'm doing, but, like the Hufflepuff I am trusting Dominique Weasley.

We were both wrong. The first social rule is never make a deal with the devil.

I think I just did.

She turns on that wicked smirk (that one that means she just got exactly what you wanted) and goes back to studying her Potions textbook, crossing out words here and there and underlining the occasional phrase with her bright-pink marker pen.

"But not now." I argue. "End of the week."

"By Friday." Dominique agrees, lifting up her water bottle as pitiable form of a toast. "To us, and the _joy_ of scheming and manipulation."

* * *

"I'm asking out Flavia." I inform Roxanne when she returns from her meeting. "Sometime this week."

"I thought it wasn't like that?" she teases, sitting down beside me on the steps.

"Your cousin had something to with it."

"Al?"

"Unless he's grown a foot and developed an obsession with Prada, no. The other one."

"Dominique." Roxanne sighs. "Daniel Charlton?"

"You bet."

"One of these days, she's going to gain a restraining order."

"I think I might need to file one myself." I joke and Roxanne gives a weak smile.

"Meanwhile," she says, "The last half an hour has been the most _boring_ one of my life."

"Why did he keep you in _extra_?"

She shrugs. "Maybe he thought I was a weirdo."

"Wouldn't be the first one." I mutter and she punches me playfully on the arm.

"No, but he is absolutely, positively _horrible_." she tells me, pulling a face. "Stupid too."

"Beautiful people often are." I say.

"Did you just call Scott _beautiful_?"

"No." I lie.

"Yes, you did."

"I meant from a _girls_ perspective."

Roxanne shakes her head and mutters something about 'bloody nutter' and 'calls _me_ weird.'

Which clicks something in my brain, reminding me of my conversation with Flavia.

"Can you explain to me this concept of _film? _And tell me about ABBA. And Mama Mia!"

"Flavia?" Roxanne guesses and then grins when she gets it right. "Knew it."

"It's not like _that_." I grumble._  
_

"It _is_."

"Is _not_."

"Is."

"Isn't."

"Is."

"You're so _childish_." I tell her and she just laughs and tells me she knows _that_ already.

* * *

"Snitch." Roxanne says, pointing to the tiny golden ball in the corner of the trunk.

"Snitch." I repeat, gesturing in the same direction.

"Quaffle." She throws the ball at me. I drop it and it lands on my toe.

"Quaffle." I croak.

"Bludger." I bend to undo the strap, but she stops me. "Don't let it out."

"Bludger."

"Idiot." she motions towards me.

"Idi-" I stop myself and she giggles.

"You're going to be the latest beater. Last year, Hufflepuff's beater was Ryan Greenwood."

"He sounds tough." I remark.

She snorts. "Couldn't hit a bludger if it was travelling at two miles an hour and even if he did it would only go about two centimetres."

"Oh."

"Which is why, we gotta step up your game. You need to be as good as him if you want a shot at making the team."

"Okay."

"Fortunately, you're Hufflepuff." Roxanne smirks. "They're not exactly _world-renowned_ when it comes to Quidditch. They'll probably let you in just for showing up."

"Sure."

"But just in case." she picks up a Beaters bat. "You have to know the basics."

* * *

"Hurry up, Roxanne!" I shout from the Ravenclaw common room, where everyone is eying my Hufflepuff badge in disdain. "We'll miss the trials!"

"It's hopeless anyway!" she yells back. "You'll never make the team!"

"Negative thinking," I tell her coolly. "Is the key to _failure_."

"You've been spending too much time with Scott Day." she informs me, then pulls me out of the common room, dragging me down the many flights of stairs and out of the large double doors into the outside.

* * *

"Alright, listen up you guys!" Robert Saunders - Hufflepuff Quidditch captain - calls out across the pitch. "This year is finally going to be the year we win the cup -"

He is interrupted by a snort from the boy next to him, who he shoots a deadly glare.

"This is Teddy Lupin." he tells us all. Roxanne squeals and throws her arms around his neck.

"Teddy!" she says. "You changed your hair!" she peers closer. "And your face!"

"Metamorphmagus." Robert explains, then clears his throat, signalling for Roxanne Weasley to _control_ herself. "Teddy isn't _technically_ a Hufflepuff and he isn't _technically_ a student of Hogwarts..."

"Any more." Teddy interjects.

"But like the annoying friend he is, he agreed to come down here today and motivate you all."

The boy grins and gives a sheepish wave.

"I know Hufflepuff isn't exactly _world_-_renowned_ when it comes to Qudditch - "

Roxanne smirks again.

"I think the last time they won was 1979." Teddy adds.

"But this is the year we're going to win."

I see Roxanne mouth '_sure_' from the stands.

"Lets start with a lap around the pitch!" Robert shouts and everyone groans, but begins jogging.

By the end of it, I am hot and sweaty, my teeth are sore and I am hunched over in agony.

"Quidditch," Robert says, inspecting my state. "Is a very exhausting sport. You're going to need to be in better shape if you want to get on the team."

I refrain myself from telling him that I don't.

* * *

"Kick off everyone!" Robert instructs and I feebly push myself off the floor, hover about two metres off of the ground then sink back down helplessly.

After a few attempts, I finally raise myself up to the same level of the other players, zoom (as slow as one can zoom) to the back of the pitch and just stay there as the chaser trials pass slowly through.

Somewhere between Summers, Holly and Fawcett, David, I get bored.

There is, however, limited options for entertainment fifty metres up in the air, so I resort (and here's where you can really _tell_ I'm not a Ravenclaw) to playing with my beaters bat.

The sort of thing where I drop the bat, then, at the last minute grab it and pull it back to me.

Yeah.

That thing.

Then suddenly, something is hurtling towards me, so fast I barely have time to blink before I realise what's happening before I hit it.

It makes a sickening crunch and I wince, expecting it to be a players head or something, but when I open my eyes, everyone is cheering...for me.

My eyes follow the direction of the beaters bat, where, some distance away a large, purplish ball is soaring through the air.

I nearly fall off my broom with shock.

* * *

"You got a place on the team." Robert beams at me when I get back down.

"I don't want a-"

"Congratulations, buddy!"

He pats me on the shoulder so hard it hurts, then strolls off merrily into the changing rooms, where I reluctantly follow, before being stopped by Roxanne.

"I can't believe it." she chuckles. "Alex Dobbson transformed into a rebel _and_ a jock over one weekend."

"Number one: I'm neither of those things, number two: I wouldn't be surprised if _you_ were behind that bludger and number three: I'm going to quit."

She looks shocked. "You can't quit!"

"Why not?"

Roxanne pauses for a minute or two. "I heard a rumour that Flavia is _really_ into Quidditch players."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. It's like, a total _thing_."

* * *

I stand back smugly and watch as they pin up the list of players on the team in the Hufflepuff common room, watching out for the small (yet significant) Alex Dobbs (for once, I don't care they've got my name wrong) at the bottom of the sheet.

"You made the team?" A voice asks and I nearly jump out of my skin.

"_Flavia_!" I attempt to balance myself. "_Hi_."

"Hey." she smiles - that dazzling white, _perfect_ amount of teeth showing smile - and points to the piece of paper. "I guess my dare worked out then."

"Yeah."

"Too bad we never win a game." Flavia sighs. "Maybe with you, we'll improve."

"I wouldn't count on it." I mutter under my breath and she looks at me blankly. "I mean, _sure_."

"I have to go." she apologises, slight Brazilian accent filtering into her words. "I have my meeting with 'Scott.'"

"Bye then." I murmur, trying to stop my face going the shade of red I know it already is.

Only once she's gone do I realise that I forgot to ask her out.

* * *

"You know that girl in our History of Magic class?

I see Dominique pause. "The gay one?"

Rochelle shakes her head. "Apparently not. She fancies Daniel."

Dominique snorts. "As if, _bitch_." They all titter nervously, not quite meeting her in the eyes.

"Meanwhile," Courtney clears her throat. "That really hot seventh year - Archie Perkins - "

"Gryffindor?" Dominique interrupts. Courtney nods.

"Was _flirting_ with me earlier." she proclaims triumphantly. Bertha and Rochelle gasp while the Ice Queen just smirks.

"Let's not get carried away here, Courtney. What exactly did he say to you?"

"That I had nice eyes - "

Dominique rolls her own. "Please. Everybody knows that is guy code for 'I hate your face but your _eyes_ are okay.'"

"I just think - "

"Really? I had no idea."

This is where I decide to step in.

"Ladies."

All of them (apart from Dominique, who shoots me a glare) squeal and whip their heads around to face me. Once they recognise me, they turn back to their conversation, evidently disappointed.

"I hate to break up this little _gathering_ - which, oddly enough, reminds me of the opening scene to _Macbeth_ - but I need to speak to Dominique. Alone."

They scatter immediately, whispering and giggling as they exit the library together.

"I hope this is important, Dobbs."

"Believe me, breaking up the Sunday night gossip-fest is my least favourite pastime, but I need to talk to you about our deal."

"What about it?" she asks, blowing on her fingernails (which appear to have changed from an electric pink to a dusty lilac in the space of a day)

"I don't think I can do it."

"What do you mean?" Her voice is relatively calm. I hope it's a good sign.

"I'm not sure I can ask her out."

"Why?" There's a slightly sharper edge to this word.

"What if she says no?"

"That's a risk you're going to have to take." Dominique flips that butterscotch blonde hair back, to one who did not know her, the perfect picture of innocence. "Remember, Dobbs, _nobody_ breaks a deal with Dominique Weasley and gets away with it. The consequences are _painful_."

I gulp.

* * *

"Fred!" Roxanne shouts and I follow her as she jogs up to a smallish boy (third or fourth year) similar to her in appearance, except with a few more freckles and bushier, darker hair that takes the shape of an afro. "This is my brother."

She gestures to him and he gives me a small smile. "Is he your boyfriend?" Fred asks her.

Roxanne snorts. "_This," _she says, pointing to me. "Is Alex Dobbson. He currently hold the record for fastest-sorted Hufflepuff."

I open my mouth to protest, but Fred gets there first. "How long?"

"Two seconds." Roxanne answers for me.

"_Seventeen_ seconds." I argue. "And the record actually belongs to Hengist of Woodcroft for fifteen, _actually_."

"You looked it _up_?" they exclaim together.

"Maybe." I say, feeling myself blushing.

"I wanted to introduce you two, now that we're friends."

"Well, um, hey." Fred says and I grin at him.

Roxanne says goodbye, then drags me off to the nearest corner, away from everyone else in the room.

"He was bullied recently." she whispers into my ear. "I figured he needs as many friends as he can get."

* * *

I stab at the lumpy white mash with my fork moodily as my gaze trails to the end of the table where she, _Flavia_ sits, giggling (that seems to be all she ever does) with her friends.

I wonder what it would be like sitting with her, holding her hand, being the one to make her laugh like that and I sigh into my yorkshire pudding.

"Girl trouble?"

I nearly jump out of my skin.

"Albus?" I turn to the boy in question, who is giving me a lopsided smile and a blush. "What would _you_ know about girls? You're barely twelve."

"James tells me things."

"James...?"

"My brother."

"Merlin, how many of you Potter-Weasley kids are there?"

He begins counting on his fingers, gets to about six, sighs and gives up. "A lot."

"So whats his advice then?"

"Flavia, right?"

"Does _everybody_ know?"

The people around us nod their heads and murmur 'yes.'

"Wow." I mutter. "Am I _that_ obvious?"

They nod again.

"You should ask her out." Albus pipes up and the rest of the table call out their agreement.

"It's not that simple." I sigh. "I'll just get rejected."

"You gotta believe in yourself, dude." the boy on my left says.

"Thanks Raj."

"Yeah." Al says. "She'll say yes. I have a feeling."

* * *

"How did your meeting with 'Scott' go?"

"Do stop stalking me Dobbs, being seen together is bad for my reputation." Dominique adjusts her headband (diamond-studded, of course) slightly, barely paying me any attention. "If you must know, awful."

"How so?" I smirk, just imagining the analysis _he_ would have given Dominque Weasley. Spoilt, stuck up, bitchy, perpetual PMS...

"He asked all the wrong questions - honestly what teenager today hasn't had alcohol? - and jumped to as many incorrect conclusions as he could."

"Like?"

"That I had a 'shy' persona."

I snort. "I wish."

"Of course you do, Dobbs it's called jealousy."

"Of you?"

"Well what did 'Scott' draw from your conversation then?"

"That I was dumb."

"It appears he is more perceptive than I thought."

"That would be funny, Dominique, except it's _not_."

"Truly, your wit _astounds_ me." She lazily flicks her wand and the mirror from across the table zooms over towards her.

"How do you do that?"

"What?" Dominique picks up the mirror and examines her reflection, long fake nails trailing over her cheeks, which she begins to dust with light pink powder. "My perfection knows no limits Dobbs, sometimes it is hard for me to distinguish exactly _what_ people are in awe of."

"Non-verbal spells. We haven't done it in class yet."

"My mother competed in the Tri-wizard tournament. My father is a highly respected code breaker for Gringrotts. My _uncle_ - though not blood-related - saved the Wizarding world from the darkest wizard of all time. I think it's fair to say the gene pool was on my side."

"But surely you must have learnt - "

"Defence Against the Dark Arts Volume Six." she interrupts, applying an extra layer of lip balm to herself. "Chapter ten."

"We haven't started that yet."

"_You_ haven't started anything. In case you haven't noticed Dobbs, the key to success - and no, it is _not_ 'surety' or whatever crap _Scott_ _Day_ comes up with in his free time - is always being one step ahead."

"Why are you so interested in it, anyway? I thought you were planning on being a fashion designer."

She purses her now-shiny lips and looks at me with contempt. "In the journey to be a leader, you make a lot of enemies. Just ask Queen Victoria - or not, she is dead, after all."

"What has that got to do with anything?"

"Survived seven assassination attempts, two from the same man. My point being, knowing how to defend yourself - or, if necessary, execute your revenge - is a life skill that will always come in handy."

"Teach me."

"Honestly, Dobbs, it's covered briefly in Seventh Year right before N.E.W.T.S anyway, so you needn't bother."

"That's all very good and well, but if someone randomly attacks me right now, what am I going to do?"

"Scream and run. And cry. Like the Hufflepuff you are."

"I meant in terms of defence."

"Knowing you," she pauses, "Shoot expelliarmus, purely because you are too cowardly to do anything worse, then stand there until the man or woman kills you."

"How do you know they were out to kill me?"

"If they've chosen to fight you, the likelihood is that they weren't just looking for a good brawl - considering their choice of partner. Also, taking into account you have little, if no enemies, the attacker is likely to be somewhat mentally deranged and therefore, uncaring if you die on their hands."

"Why do you have to be such a smart-arse?"

"If nobody is _intelligent_, Dobbs, it makes for a very boring, pitiful world. Just _imagine_ the dull niceties that would be exchanged if we couldn't determine which of us were superior."

"Said by some genius somewhere."

"Yes. _Me_."

"Nobody ever told you sarcasm was the lowest form of wit, did they?"

"As nobody ever told you exactly what _hypocrisy_ was. Now run along, Dobbs, I have things to do and people to see. I'm sure _Evita_ would be happier to see you. Do inform her from me that _Primark_ is _not_ a fashion choice that _anybody_ should follow."

"What about my tutoring?"

"I will teach you," she picks up her books and shoves them into the Alexander McQueen handbag. "When, and only when, I am ready."

Somehow, I take this as a victory.

* * *

"Mr. Dobbson."

"Yes, Professor Hayes?"

"I presume you know _why_ you are here?"

"No sir."

He sets his cup of tea - peppermint, I can smell it - down and scratches the back of his forehead. "Oh. Well, I'd like to start on a positive note - congratulations for making the Quidditch team."

"Thank you sir."

"But," he continues. "As your head of house, it is my duty to inform you that you were recommended by Mr. Day - _Scott_, for extra 'counselling' from him. Do you have any idea why?"

"No sir." I lie.

He blinks. "Oh. Maybe you should consider taking this up with Mr. Day the next time you see him."

"When is this?"

"Next Sunday, at 6:00pm sharp, his office."

"Thank you sir."

"Once again, I'd like to congratulate you on your Quidditch success. Do feel free to show yourself out now, I wouldn't want to waste anymore of your Sunday night."

I get up and pull open the door, only to be stopped by his voice once more.

"Oh, and Mr. Dobbson?" he says sympathetically. "I dislike him too."

* * *

"Freddie, where did you get that underwear from?"

He tucks the lacy black thong out of sight quickly, a guilty look on his face.

"Have you seen Witch Weekly recently, Dobbs?"

"Why?" I flop onto the bed, kicking off my shoes and rubbing the palms of my feet. "Also, why are _you_ reading _Witch_ _Weekly_?"

Freddie smirks. "My girlfriend told me about it."

"You got a _girlfriend_? The world really has gone insane."

He glares at me. "I don't see _you_ making any progress with Gisele Bündchen."

"These things take _time_." I pick up the magazine (littered with pink, hearts, boys and the word 'hot.'). "Why am I reading this?"

"Turn to page thirty-four."

"What's her name?"

"Just do it!"

I flip open the magazine, skipping past all the articles about 'a witches best hair spell collection' and 'Cormac McLaggen - angel or devil - you decide,' to page thirty four.

I frown. "Who's Zacharias Smith?"

"Famous Quidditch player. Read the article."

"It's just a bunch of random stuff about him."

"Last line." Freddie tells me, grin like a Cheshire Cat.

I open my mouth, then shut it again, the words refusing to come, the horror and embarrassment seeping in.

"Shit."

I bash my head against the wooden board at the end of the bed numerous times, until it is red and sore.

I feel a lot like crying.

"I do not believe this." I say, voice muffled. "I do _not_ believe this."

Freddie grins at my displeasure, while I moan again. "My bloody _mother_ is dating a _Quidditch_ _player_."

* * *

I don't own:

Harry Potter

The Big Bang Theory (my little take on 'Raj' there)

Macbeth (a.k.a the three -well, four- _bitches_)

Prada

Gucci

Chanel

Louis Vuitton

ABBA

Mama Mia (here I go again...)

Gisele Bündchen, who in case you didn't know is a Brazilian fashion model.

Alexander McQueen

Evita (belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice)...a little joke there, Eva Perón was actually Argentinian.

Primark (and the views expressed do not relate to my own)

And I'm running out of fashion labels...

Virtual hug to Fionamoi for reviewing my other story: Metamorphosis, which is also NextGen and revolves around Louis and the social outcast mentioned in the summary.

Teaser for Chapter Four:

In which Alex attempts to ask out Flavia, Roxanne gets annoyed, Dominique interrupts something and is, as always, a bitch.


	4. Fridays and Alex is In Love

_Monday_

"You smell weird."

I pass a bowl of cereal to Roxanne, who is currently sniffing the air around me like I have somebody just died.

"It's _cologne_, actually. Acqua di Gio."

"Where did _you_ get Acqua di Gio from?"

"Freddie." I clear my throat. "Speaking of, do you have any idea who he's dating?"

"Freddie got a _girlfriend_?" An incredulous look spreads across Roxanne's face.

"I was thinking after that little kiss last week, it might've been you."

"Excuse me while I go _throw_ _up_." Roxanne shudders. "Did you really think I would stoop so low?"

Silence, punctuated by an apologetic glance from me to her.

"Why _are_ you wearing cologne anyway?" Roxanne says, sending me a hateful glare.

"Flavia." I mutter, feeling my cheeks burn red-hot and Roxanne smiles once more.

It's not that strange is it? Me...asking out a _girl_? There was that period when my mum thought I was gay and kept dropping hints on how 'accepting' she was of my lifestyle. It took me about a year to work out what she was actually going on about and a _very_ awkward conversation to put her straight.

"Ah yes, our little Carmen Miranda." Realisation dawns on her and she gives an excited squeal that nearly bursts my eardrums. "Are you asking her out today?"

"Shhh!" I hiss, feeling about ten pairs of eyes stare at the back of my head. "Not so loud."

She ignores me. "_Are_ you?"

"Yes." I admit and she lets out another squeak and hugs me.

"Break a leg!"

"I bloody hope not."

"Have you combed your hair as well?"

I pause. "No."

"You should. Makes it seem like you've put effort in."

"Anything else?"

She leans in a little closer. "Maybe take a breath mint."

* * *

"Flavia." I say, nervously running a hand through my supposed-to-be combed hair. "Hi."

She nods in my direction, hushing her friend, who is giggling like a maniac. "Too much sugar." Flavia explains.

"Oh. Fizzing Whizzbees?"

"Exploding Bonbons actually. I don't know how she got them - the Hogsmeade trip is next month."

I jump at my opportunity. "Oh, um, yeah, about that..."

"Have you combed your hair?" Flavia asks suddenly, pointing to the top of my head, perfect pink lips pouted in confusion.

"Er...yes. Why?"

"It doesn't look as good." she says, turning slightly rose-coloured. "Makes you look like Benjamin Booth."

"Benjamin Booth?"

"Ravenclaw in my year. _Massive_ poindexter."

I'm not _entirely_ sure what she just said.

"Poindexter?"

"Nerd." Flavia tells me and my face falls a little. "No offence."

"None taken."

"I mean -" her eyes scrunch up. "Merlin I'm bad at this whole talking thing."

"Me too." I offer and she tosses me a small smile.

"I liked it before." Flavia brings her hand to my forehead and ruffles the hair on top of it. "When it was messy. Keep it like that."

"Sure. Er...Flavia - "

My legs give way underneath me and I trip and stumble, crashing into her, my arm gripping hers as we collide, plummeting to the cool marble floor together.

Bloody _merlin_. It just _had_ to happen to me didn't it? At the very worst time, might I add. Not to mention in front of the _whole_ corridor, who I just bet are laughing their arses off at me now.

_Merlin_, life sucks.

"When I said break a leg, Alex, this isn't exactly what I meant." I whip my head around to find Roxanne leant against the doorway, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Break a leg?" Flavia asks, shifting herself off of my feet and propping herself up, wincing slightly. "With what?"

"Never mind." I mutter and Roxanne gives a frustrated little huff and flounces off the other way.

"You OK?"

"Yeah, fine." Flavia pushes herself off of the ground. "What were you going to ask me?"

"Don't worry about it."

* * *

"Were you following us?"

"I was _trying_," Roxanne sighs, "to make sure that you didn't chicken out."

"I didn't!"

She rolls those doe eyes, heavy lashes fluttering as she speaks. "You did."

"I fell."

"On purpose."

"What?"

"You just keeled over. It must have been deliberate."

"You think I ruined my _own_ chances of getting a date?"

She scrunches up her nose. "What happened then?"

"It felt like..." I think back to the moment when I fell, how precise the timing was, how suddenly my knees gave way. "The Jelly Legs Jinx."

"Who would do that to you?"

"Daniel." I suggest. "I think he has a thing for Flavia."

"Merlin, Dominique will _not_ be happy about this."

"Who cares about Dominique?" I ask rubbing my still-sore back. "I'm worried that he's going to get there before me."

Typically, (well in one of those crappy romance novels mum reads and I might have _accidentally_ finished the whole book _one_ time) I, being the loveable loser, would get the girl and Daniel Charlton would face social humiliation (pffttt, have you seen that guy?), but unfortunately life is not like that. Being a teenager is one of the hardest things I'm ever going to have to do and let me say now that the loser/loner/adorkably clumsy guy does not get the girl

The hot one does.

"Which is exactly why you need to _hurry up_."

"I'll ask her _tomorrow_."

"_You_ may delay but _time_ will not."

I stare at her, face blank and bewildered. "Why is everyone I know more intelligent than me?"

Roxanne rolls her eyes again. "What are you going to do about Daniel?"

"It's not like I can take on the toughest, most popular boy in school and get away with it."

"Unless..." Roxanne trails off.

"Unless what?"

"Never mind."

But her face is still twisted thoughtfully into that look that says she has a plan.

Roxanne has a plan.

I'm in a whole lot of trouble.

* * *

_Tuesday_

"Acqua Di Gio, Dobbs? If I had a soul, I'd be _impressed_."

I settle in my seat next to Dominique Weasley who is currently inspecting the strand of her hair sandwiched between her two fingers like its the most interesting thing in the world.

"Freddie gave it to me."

"I'm supposed to know who that is because...?"

"How did you know Acqua Di Gio anyway?"

"Are you kidding?" She twirls the hair around her middle finger. "Giorgio Armani is like..._Merlin_ to me."

"_Armani_?"

Slughorn claps his hands together excitedly and calls our attention to the front of the room where he announces, that because he lost his lesson plan, we have a free study for the lesson - a chance to make any potion we want.

"Amortentia." Dominique says, pulling out her Witch Weekly magazine (the latest of course). "One of the most difficult potions we'll tackle this year and therefore the old coot will give us top marks and extra credit."

"Will you be partaking in the making of this at all?"

"Dobbs," Dominique says, giving out a little breathy sigh that just _screams_ I'm-so-much-smarter-than-you. "I have far _better_ things to do with my time than make a potion."

I grab the cauldron, tossing in some dragonfly thorax while she leafs through the article on cuticle care. (I stopped questioning girl interests a _long_ time ago)

"Why are you wearing cologne anyway?"

"Flavia." I mouth at her, nervously glancing around to see if anyone's listening.

"Keeping to our deal, Dobbs. Wise decision."

"Why do I feel like this is a meeting for the Italian Mafia?"

"I _do_ love Fendi." Dominique admits, turning the page. "And Pizza Marinara."

"What in Merlin's name is _Fendi_?"

"You honestly don't know a thing, do you?"

"No, Dominique, I don't. Those seven O.W.L.s I got were all _fake_."

"I got ten." She purses her lips together and waits for the admiration that never comes.

"Why do you even _like_ Daniel anyway? He's a total dickhead."

"Oh, and you know this because?"

"He Levicorpused - is that a word?"

"No."

"He Levicorpused me last year all because I bumped into him. In fourth year, he threatened to use the killing curse after I asked his girlfriend - " Dominique's knuckles clench. "to pass the _salt_."

"So?" she says, pretending to be deeply interested in a picture of The Ghastly Snowmen. "Maybe I like bad boys."

"Maybe you're an idiot."

I drop in the peacock feather and it slowly fizzles into the potion, turning it a deep shade of fluorescent green.

Dominique drops the magazine, strides over to the cauldron and bends her head down into it.

"That's not amortentia." She says, lip curling with disgust. "Amortentia is _pink_."

"I'm scared that you know these things."

"You screwed up, Dobbs. If I get a Troll - merlin I will murder you with _no_ regrets."

"Yeah, you might want to discuss that with Scott."

Cautiously, she places her little finger along the edge of the cauldron and sweeps it around in a circular motion, gathering the green sludge like dust.

"Miss Weasley, get away from that immediately!"

Dominique jumps about a metre into the air, spinning around to face Professor Slughorn who is standing over her, glasses slipping off his nose, a stern look on his face.

"Go wash your hands."

She obeys him, slowly trudging out of the room.

"Very impressive, Mr Dobbs."

"Dobbson, sir." I remind him, unsure of what I did.

"Dobbson, of course." He booms, patting me on the back. "Any relation to Miss Banks?"

"My mother, sir."

He smiles fondly. "She was good at potions too."

"Too?"

Slughorn looks surprised. "Gives yourself some credit, boy, nobody I've ever taught has been able to create Angel's Trumpet Draught first try!"

"Actually, I was trying to make A-"

"He had help." Dominique says smoothly, magically reappearing at my side. "But yes, I think he is quite the genius, wouldn't you agree sir?"

"Indeed." Slughorn nods heartily, giving a quick glance towards his wall (adorned with photographs of past students). "Say, Mr Dobbson, as Miss Weasley - " Dominique raises a slim, well-manicured hand to me. "Knows, every month or so, I hold a little...get together in my office. Would you like to come? There's one this weekend in fact."

"I'd...uh..." Dominique sends me a not-so-subtle kick. "Be delighted sir."

"What was that?" I hiss as we return to our seats.

"Everyone knows that the suck-ups get extra credit in Potions, Dobbs." Dominique narrows her mascara-tainted eyes at me. "You just got lucky."

"What's Angels Trumpets Draught?"

"The second most powerful poison known to wizards."

"Oh, is that all?"

"Be glad that you got into the Slug Club. All successful wizards do."

"Oh, yes, like _Tom_ _Riddle_." I reply sarcastically and she glares at me.

"I expect to see you at that meeting, Dobbs. Wear something nice."

* * *

"Psst!" I mutter towards Raj, the first year I spoke to on Sunday, ignoring the groans of the Hufflepuff common room who are all attempting to study. "Pass this to Flavia."

He catches the note and instead of passing it along, unfolds it slowly.

"No!" I whisper-scream. "Hand it to _Flavia_!"

Raj raises an eyebrow and continues to open the note. "_Flavia," _he mouths to himself_. "I've been thinking and the subject of my thoughts has been...well, mostly, you. And me. And how, I think we could be good together, if we give it a try. There's a Hogsmeade trip next month - the twenty-eighth, I checked and I was...well, thinking again, that you might want to go. With me. It's totally cool if you don't want to, but, uh, yeah."_

He finishes the letter looks at me and snorts. "Wow."

"Pass it on!"

Raj smirks and tosses it to the girl next to him. "Flavia." he murmurs and the girl nods and flicks it towards her.

Flavia opens the note, scans it briefly, and with an expression of uncertainty, spins around on her heel.

I wait with bated breath, only to realise that her gaze is not, in fact, directed at me, but at Raj, who is waggling his dark, bushy eyebrows at her in a way that is _far_ too inappropriate for a first year.

She shakes her head and turns back around, but even I catch the hint of a smile on her face as she does it.

Great.

Now the _first-years_ are smoother than me.

* * *

"Did you do it?" Dominique squirts out some citrus gel and rubs it over her hands while she talks, seeming intently fascinated with one corner of her palm.

"No." I tell her, annoyance spreading across my face. "I didn't."

"Why not?" She focuses once more upon that piece of her hand, a frown replacing her features.

"Don't ask. What's up with your hand?"

"You know the poison from earlier?"

"Angels...whatever...yeah."

"Merlin, you have the memory of a goldfish." Dominique sighs and continues spreading the gel. "I think it worked."

"Are you going to die?"

"That only happens if you ingest it, stupid. I got a rash on my hand."

"So?"

"So..." Dominique exhales and I finally catch the vague scent of oranges. "I was going to invite Daniel to Hogsmeade today."

"Why can't you?"

I expect her to snap at me 'for asking all of these stupid questions, Dobbs' but she just sighs again and I realise that she is truly miserable.

"I wanted it to be perfect. Madam Pomfrey said the rash would be gone by Friday, so if you're wondering about our deal, I'm not going to blow it off."

"Don't worry about it."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. It's kind of my fault anyway."

"Merlin, Dobbs," Dominique murmurs, "You need to toughen up."

* * *

_Wednesday_

_Dear Alex, _

_How are you? Sorry for my delayed reply, I think you know why it took me so long. I appreciate your concern over myself and Zacharias - really, it was sweet of you to bother - but we are fine. I know you think Zacharias is a 'playboy' (honestly, you shouldn't even know what that means!) but around me he has been absolutely lovely and a gentleman too. He took me to his Quidditch match (he lost, but he wasn't bothered about it) for free - for the first time in my life I sat in the top box. I think what I'm trying to say is that I haven't dated since your father left all those years ago, so let me have this one. Pretty please? _

_On another note, did you tell that girl - you know the one I mean, the Brazilian one - how you felt about her? I think you should give her a box of chocolates - it always worked back when I was a teenager (except when your dear Aunt Romilda spiked Harry Potter's) and when Zacharias gave me some I just squealed with delight! See, I sent you some - the assortment ones, can't remember what they're called, Polish ones with Plutarch - he almost broke his leg carrying them - to give to her._

_How is school? How's your new friend - Roxy...Roxanne? Is that mean girl still bothering you? She seems like a real Pansy Parkinson (I can't **believe** that she and Zack used to date). Write back soon, darling!_

_Love you loads_

_Mum xxx_

* * *

"Hi."

"Alex!" Flavia smooths down her school skirt quickly, hopping around to face me. "Hey."

"So...uh..." My mouth goes dry. "I got you something."

"Really? What?"

Eyes tightly shut, I hand over the chocolate box, not opening them until she speaks.

"Truskawka?"

"They're Polish." I explain. "Truffles."

She opens the box and takes one out, holding it up to her mouth.

"So," I say as she pop it inside and takes a bite. "I was thinking - "

"My mouth feels really itchy." She interrupts, running a finger along her tongue.

"Okay, but - "

"Oh god - " Flavia spits out the truffle, wincing and clamping her hand to her mouth like she's about to be sick. "Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"What - " she wheezes, voice dry and cracked, "Does Truskawka mean?"

"I don't know. Flavia?"

She bends over and I just stand there awkwardly (let's face it, this isn't an everyday occurrence) until I decide to do _something_ and take her to the Hospital Wing.

Which is when she pukes all over me.

Wiping the *shudder* vermillion chunks off my robes I stand her up and haul her to Madam Pomfrey, paying little attention to the stares (seems like that's what I do best) that people give.

It's really turning out to be a _fabulous_ week.

* * *

"Stupid boy." Madam Pomfrey mutters as she dabs at my robes, her beady eyes directed towards the hospital bed in the corner where Flavia lies, hair fanned out around her, in peaceful sleep.

"How was I supposed to know Flavia is allergic to strawberry?"

"Always check - " she glares at me again, folding the collar of my shirt down. "The English translation of the ingredients. You could have killed her."

"Could have, would have, should have, _didn't_."

"Your attitude to romance is truly _inspirational_." Madam Pomfrey scoffs, laying down a fresh bed sheet.

"Who said anything about romance?"

"You're not planning to sleep with her then leave her, are you?" she asks suspiciously and I find myself gagging at the thought of Madam Pomfrey knowing about _sex_.

"No!" I protest.

"Then it's rather _obvious_. Everyone knows about your feelings for Miss Montes."

"How much is everyone?"

"The entire student population. A couple of the teachers."

"Merlin." I mutter. "Albus really can't keep a secret."

* * *

_Hey Mum_,

_Um, school is okay, I guess. Slughorn invited to the Slug Club meeting this weekend - I think he finally learnt my name. Roxanne is fine - annoying as usual - I think you should meet her, you two would get along well. Dominique is cool too, she hasn't really publicly humiliated me so far in the year, but, you know, I'll see how it goes. _

_So I took your suggestion and gave Flavia the box of chocolates. It went...uh...yeah, it didn't really work. On the subject of your romance (merlin it feels weird saying that) how is Zack? __I...suppose if he makes you happy, I'll give him a try. There's always Christmas I guess._

_Do you think he could get me tickets as well?_

_Alex_

* * *

_Thursday_

"Is she hot?"

"Look, Dobbs." Freddie slams his cup of coffee (black, without sugar) onto the table, ignoring the small splash it makes. "My girlfriend...has _requested_ we don't tell anyone about our relationship so if you wouldn't mind, get the fuck out."

"Give me a hint."

"I'll tell you when you get Adriana Lima - "

"Trust you to come up with an _underwear model_."

"- to go out with you."

"I'm pretty close, actually." I bluff.

Yeah, _close_. I'm about as _close_ to getting a date with Flavia as I am with Celestina Warbeck - not that I'd want to, considering she's about ninety years my senior. True, I _think_ she's into me but for a while I thought Liverpool was the capital of _Scotland_. (I'm bad at geography okay?)

My brain screws up a lot, and this is the one time where I really can't afford to trust it'S opinions.

"Oh _really_?" Freddie smirks. "Well I suppose you wouldn't mind conducting a little bet on that fact then."

"Sure." I pick up his coffee and begin absent-mindedly stirring it with the spoon. "If you're prepared to lose."

"End of the day, Dobbs, if you and Flavia aren't dating, I get a galleon."

"And if we are, I get to know who your girlfriend is."

"It's a deal."

Merlin, I should stop making those things.

* * *

"ABBA again?" I slide my books along the table to the seat opposite Flavia who gives me a small - tiny really, smile and stops her humming.

"R.E.M actually."

"Are we _what_?"

"R.E.M." Flavia scribbles the letters down on the piece of paper and tosses it to me. "Muggle band."

"What does it stand for?"

"Rapid eye movement." She grins, expecting my response - an eye roll and a sarcastic comment.

She isn't disappointed.

"Muggles are...odd."

"At least _we_ don't have a band called _Conjunctivitis_ _Curse_! I mean, seriously, who would name a band after one of the worst spells ever invented?"

"They rock though." I protest. "And it's not the _worst_ spell ever invented."

"No, that's probably Lumos." Flavia sighs, flicking over the page.

"What's wrong with Lumos?"

"The invention of _lights_."

"Don't diss Lumos." I say, twiddling my wand around in my fingers. "Lumos is awesome."

"Speaking of diseases, are you alright?"

"Fine." Flavia turns the page of her Charms textbook, voice going quiet and soft as she speaks. "I guess I learned some Polish, huh?"

"I like your scarf." I say, pointing to the black and yellow striped material hanging loosely around her neck.

She flushes red. "It's old. I got it like two years ago."

"It's cool."

"Excuse me, but Courtney needs that book for her Charms homework." The loud, bossy and undeniably snobby voice of Dominique Weasley cuts through the air like a sword, startling the both of us. "Hand it over."

"Aren't there any other ones?"

"No." Dominique places a hand on her hip and pouts. "Can I have it now?"

"Sure." Flavia takes out her notes, closes the book and places it in her arms.

"P.S," she adds, doing that demonic hair flip people know her so well for . "Scarves are out right now. Just a tip."

"Th-thanks." Flavia stutters and watches as she struts away, head held high and motley crew in tow, to the back of the library.

"Why do you let them treat you like that?"

"I'm a coward." She shrugs and tucks away the notes into her pocket. "I'm too nice."

"It's not a bad thing." I tell her and she gives a half-smile, half-grimace, stands up and makes to leave.

"Wait!" I call after her. "I need to ask you something!"

"Can you do it tomorrow? I have to be somewhere."

"Impressive, Dobbs." That broad Cornish drawl - strangely, enough, not female this time - makes my head spin around to find Louis Weasley standing behind me, back straight, arms folded, leant against the bookshelf.

"Look, Weasley, if you're here to beat me up again, could you make it quick? I got Defence Against the Dark Arts in ten minutes."

"Beat you up?" Louis looks confused - an expression I am sure he is used to. "I came here to apologise. I acted like a dick to you."

"It's fine." I say, mouth slightly agape with surprise. "I would have done the same in your situation."

"Really? You seem kind of gentle." Seeing my face, he amends his words. "It's not a bad thing."

"It's fine." I repeat, shifting onto my right foot. "People have done worse to me."

He frowns. "I always got the impression you were pretty popular."

I snort. "Please. I got my first friend this _year_. People pick on me for _fun_. I'm like a sub-species to you people and you know it."

"I'm sorry."

"It's the circle of life." I shrug. "Social hierarchy and all that bullshit."

"I guess so." Louis says, a far-away look in his eyes. "Guess so."

* * *

"You win." I say, tossing the galleon onto Freddie's bed and crumpling onto mine.

He smirks (the world remains ever unchanging) and settles on his own one. "Rio giving you trouble?"

"Oh, so now you're resorting to places?"

"What about the Duran Duran song?"

"_Who_?"

"Never mind." He tugs on the galleon, slipping the coin into his pocket lazily, before falling back on his own bed. "What about your deal with Weasley?"

"I'll have to do it tomorrow."

"Are you sure that you won't be a wimp again?"

"Yes."

_No_.

* * *

_Friday_.

"Your whole life can be summed up by that Taylor Swift song." Roxanne informs me, stirring some sugar into her tea. "Cliche as it may be."

"When are people going to learn that I _don't_ listen to muggle music?"

She raises an eyebrow, as do several people around the table.

"Not like _that_!" I protest. "I'm not a racist!"

"I didn't know it was possible to consciously admit to liking Taylor Swift." Raj says sarcastically, biting into his egg.

"Like you don't know _all_ of her songs." Roxanne scoffs.

"He does." Al cuts in before Raj has a chance to argue.

"Fine." He admits. "But of course his life revolves around 'You Belong With Me.' Everyone can be defined by at least one Taylor Swift song."

"Oh really?" Roxanne asks. "What am I then?"

I clear my throat. "Back to the issue at hand here."

"How your crippling anxiety prevents you from getting a date with a girl?" Raj asks.

"Yes. And, _why_ am I discussing this with two first years and a lunatic?"

"Now _that_ would make a good Taylor Swift song." Roxanne muses.

"I have no idea what I'm going to do, I mean - "

"I don't know about your romantic predicament." Raj cuts in.

"There is none." Roxanne replies.

"I'll need a while to find a Taylor Swift that isn't about a boy."

"Anyway, I have a feeling that this will work because we have chemistry you know? And I may not be the guy all the girls want - "

Blonde haired, blue-eyed Quidditch captains who flick their hair back to the sighs of the audience, flex their muscles and let Courtney Lowe feel their six pack.

"But I think she'll say yes."

"A Place In This World." Raj finishes and Roxanne ponders for a minute then nods.

"I suppose."

"Were any of you listening?"

Three shakes of the head.

* * *

_Flavia_, _hey_ -

I scratch it out with my quill, cursing myself for my stupidity. Hey? _Hey_? It's not America for Merlin's sake, why am I acting like some country singer?

_Hello __Flavia_,

Ugh. Too old-fashioned.

_What are you doing? - R_

_Preparing what I'm going to say to Flavia - A_

_Seriously? - R_

_I don't joke about affairs of the heart - A_

_**Wow**. - R_

"Miss Weasley and Mr Dobbs." Professor Pugh calls out, giving us a sickly sweet smile. "This is the - " she holds up two bony fingers - "second time I've caught you not doing the work you've been set. I'd like you to carry on with the questions on page ninety-one."

_We got off easy - R_

"Oh, and detention tonight as well." She checks the pink fluffy binder. "Since I have no other free time, you'll have to skip dinner to make it."

_Bitch - A_

"50 points from Hufflepuff Mr Dobbs, for foul language against a teacher. It's no wonder Miss Montes refuses to go out with you."

* * *

"Do you want to know what I did?" Roxanne asks, pulling the sponge out of the bucket with a beam. "Go on: ask me."

"What did you do?"

"Solved all of your problems."

"You set Professor Pugh's desk on fire?"

"Nearly, but not quite." Her smile grows bigger. "Flavia's going to Hogsmeade with you."

"What?!" I ask, dumbfounded. "You asked her out for me?"

"Yes."

"But...she'll think I'm too shy!"

"Well she said yes, so I don't think that's a problem."

"What _exactly_ did she say?" I don't want a repeat of second year when Courtney told someone who told someone who told someone who told someone who told Freddie that Alissa Michaels thought I was hot.

Turns out she thought I _wasn't_ hot.

You can imagine how the rest of the story goes.

"She giggled, nodded her head, then ran off."

I did it.

I actually got a date.

With a _girl_.

I can die right here, right now.

* * *

A sniff.

I turn and retrace my last few steps, my ears straining out for the noise - which clearly isn't supposed to be there, considering it's late (too late) at night.

Snivelling. Then huge, great big gulping sobs, right from the Charms classroom.

I stand there awkwardly, not really knowing what to do. I suck around crying people. Mostly I just hand them a tissue then get the hell out of there, but I don't really want to leave this person.

A soft sigh - female, which makes it even more uncomfortable for me, embarassing too, so I decide to just run, but then I drop my book, which lands with a dull _thud_ on the corridor floor.

Shit.

They know I'm here.

Might as well, I decide, how bad could it be? Unless...like their whole family died or something? Merlin, I hope it's not that.

Slowly, carefully, I push open the great big mahogany door, eyes squinting through the darkness, only to spot that eerily familiar butterscotch blonde hair...blue eyes...

"Dominique?"

* * *

Wow this took _**ages**_.

I don't own:

Harry Potter

The Cure (the chapter title reference)

Acqua Di Gio, or any Armani product

Carmen Miranda - a Brazilian Cabaret singer

Any of the crappy romance novels Alex' mum reads.

The Italian Mafia (though it would be pretty cool if I did)

Fendi

Pizza Marinara

ABBA

R.E.M

Rio (resists urge to start singing it) or any Duran Duran song

You Belong With Me, A Place in This World, or any other Taylor Swift song. (Heck, I had to research these, I'm not really a fan)

In the next chapter:

Alex goes to the Slug Club, Scott Day returns and Dominique is slightly less of a bitch.

Oh, and virtual hugs to Fionamoi and Guest for reviewing!


	5. Crying Girls and Boring Meetings

When a girl cries, somehow, it manages to be even more embarrassing for the guy - who (if my situation is anything to go by) will presumably just stand there, twiddling his thumbs and pretending he cares.

There is always the option of a hug - because apparently girls love that sort of thing - but the problem is: it's Dominique Weasley. Bitchy, backstabbing, Ralph Lauren wearing _Dominique_ _Weasley_ with the icy glare and the clearly-not-so stony heart.

It's weird, seeing her like this, because normally she's not exactly sunshine and sparkles, but...sort of indifferent, sarcastic, cynical. Like a machine. Everyone knows that Weasleys don't cry. Except for now, obviously. Which is why it feels just like a dream - it's like everything I knew...is wrong.

I can't just go over there and demand a hug - she'll Avada Kedavra me on sight.

So I do what I do best, offer a clumsy-yet-polite alternative. "Tissue?"

She practically yanks it from me, bringing it to her nose and sniffling into it.

"Um...what's wrong?" I ask, shuffling my feet a tiny bit forward, still maintaining that reasonable distance between us.

"Daniel." she sobs into the now-scraps of tissue. "He said no."

"I'm...uh...sorry?"

"He said he'd never go out with me."

Well this _is_ a turn-up. Dominique Weasley not getting what she wants for once, and considering it's Daniel Charlton - who is practically the man-whore of Hogwarts - it really is surprising. Most guys - myself excepted - would jump at the chance to go on a date with her. I think it's that 1/8 Veela charm.

"Look, Weasley." I sigh, knowing I shouldn't be dragged into this, but doing it anyway. "Can I give you some advice?"

"Knowing you, it'll be awful." She rubs at her eyes, which are now slightly crimson and smoothes her hair down. "But go on."

"You're Dominique Weasley. You're like...Merlin in this school. For some reason - and believe me I have no idea what it is - everybody loves you. Do you really need a boy to help you along?"

She appears to consider this. "Of course not."

"Yeah...so, I dunno, maybe just do your own thing for now. He'll come around eventually."

"Your guidance skills astound me Dobbs."

I pause. "Sarcasm?"

Dominique nods her head, ponytail swishing into place. "But...I can see where you're coming from." She rolls her eyes and hesitantly adds. "Maybe...you're not as stupid as I make you out to be."

"Was that a compliment? From Dominique Weasley?"

"Don't get used to it." She stands up, hikes her skirt up a couple of centimetres and begins to walk out. "I'll see you Sunday. Wear something nice."

* * *

The bitter autumn winds nearly sweep me off my feet as I step outside, Quidditch gear in pristine state and reluctantly head down to the pitch.

Why am I doing this? Sports aren't my forte, they never have been. I'll probably fall of my broom and _die_. And I'll be that kid that everybody mocks after their death, people will jeer at my funeral and say 'hey look, it's him, that kid that couldn't even stay on his broom for a fucking _hour_, what a loser!'

Even at my funeral, I bet you this would happen. The universe is like that - cold and harsh and bitter (so maybe I'm just quoting the Weird Sisters now).

I'll never have my first kiss, never graduate -

"Dobbs," Robert calls from a couple metres away. "Get your arse over here!"

"Our first game is on Sunday the twenty-sixth of November. We're aiming to score two-hundred points if we win." He pauses, studying the faces of the rest of the team. "At least fifty if we lose - which we won't. Practice will be every Saturday, excepting Hogsmeade weekends for about an hour and if one of you doesn't show - unless there is a serious, medical reason - you're off the team. Any questions?"

"When will Hogwarts introduce cheerleaders?"

"This is the UK, Henry, not some American teen Rom-com."

"What's a Rom-com?" I whisper to the girl next to me, who shrugs and picks up her broom.

"On that note, I don't want any of your 'love lives' to get in the way of the cup. Feel free to date, but if you think you're making any grand romantic gestures in the middle of the match, think again."

"Any other rules?" I ask.

"No bringing people from other houses to training. Which means _you_ - " he points to Roxanne on the stands. "Out."

"Bye." she mutters to me, and shooting Robert an angry glare, leaves the pitch.

"Schoolwork is important - a healthy mind equals a healthy body. If you fail, you'll be kicked out. No arguments. Getting over fifty detentions will result in the same thing. Eat healthy."

"What, are you going to weigh us every Saturday?"

"If you don't shut up Henry, I might. I can't obviously control what you do with your body but it's your responsibility to keep in shape or you could possibly risk exclusion from the team."

"Anything _else_?"

"Yes, actually."

It's another fifteen minutes before we get to start flying.

* * *

"Nice practice today, Dobbs."

"Thanks Henry."

The boy blinks. "That was sarcasm."

"Oh."

"It took three attempts for you to get off the ground, you missed a bludger that was like one _centimetre_ near you - "

"It wasn't that close." I interject. He nods his head.

"It was. Plus, the one you did it went about a foot before stopping. Face it Dobbs, you're not great at this whole beating business."

"Well how do you do it then?" I ask, already pretty sick of his patronising tone.

"Practise." He shrugs. "I lift weights every night. Oh, and my uncle is Oliver Wood, you know Puddlemere United's star player? He trains me occasionally. No big deal, though. I'm just like, _Merlin_ at Quidditch. I bet you're good at..." he looks me up and down. "_Something_ too."

"Yeah, totally." I say, unwilling to point out how much of a show-off this dick is to his face. He seems like the sort of guy who would get in a fight easily and I seem like the sort of guy who would black out after one punch. I guess I'll just have to put up with his douchery. It's not like I haven't been doing it my entire life.

"I could help you, if you like."

I shake my head, struggling not to roll my eyes at him. "No thanks."

"You sure? I could make you good at this."

"I'm sure." I tell him. "Give me some time, maybe I'll be better than you."

He chuckles. "Not likely."

* * *

"Alex." Scott greets warmly, finishing pinning up yet another 'keep calm' poster. "How are you?"

"Fine, sir."

He wags his finger. "Scott, remember?"

"Yeah, sure." I sit down wearily, rubbing my right arm.

"I see you play Quidditch." He points to my Hufflepuff jersey, which is now caked in mud and sweat. "What position?"

"Beater."

"Good. Helps take out all the aggression."

I clamp my mouth shut and force a smile.

"What are your parents like, Alex?"

"I don't know my father."

"Why not?" I'm a little taken aback by the personal question but I respond anyway.

"He left when my mum was pregnant." I grin a little at Scott's concerned face. "I hate him, it's no problem."

"Hate is a strong word, Alex. Do we truly hate anything in our lives? Especially someone we don't even know."

"Uh...yeah. He left a sixteen year old girl pregnant, it's fair to say he was kind of a jerk." I find myself growing frustrated with Scott's answers.

"Sixteen? Were they at Hogwarts?"

"She was. He was a muggle."

Scott perks up. "Your situation...seems similar to Tom Riddle's."

This is where I lose it.

"Oh, what because my father is a muggle, now I'm Lord Voldemort? Do you see me going around killing muggleborns? No! I'm not a racist!" I snap. "Why are you here, anyway? Surely Professor McGonagall didn't employ you to find potential reincarnations of the Dark Lord?"

"Do you have any fears, Alex?"

* * *

I check my wristwatch and nearly scream when I see the time.

Dear Merlin, Dominique is going to kill me.

I hop out of the armchair, ignoring the strange looks the rest of the common room give me and race up the stairs, pulling the nearest pair of dress robes out of the wardrobe. I hold it up against me, decide it'll do and get changed as quick as possible, constantly checking the time. Pushing - well, more slamming, the bathroom door open, I rush over to the sink and brush my teeth with about as much toothpaste as I can fit on the toothbrush.

Realising that I did that right before having dinner, I hit myself, cursing this crippling plague of _stupidity_.

I put my clip-on bow tie (I never did learn how to do those things), toss my old clothes in the laundry basket and rinse out my mouth with water.

Then run, run, run the hell out of there.

* * *

"You dressed up." Dominique says, surprised. "I didn't think you would."

"Um...Dominique?" I ask, staring at her outfit. "Do you think that we..._overdressed_?"

She examines her now green-and-white nails for chips in the paint, giving a quick glance towards the jade material that envelopes her. "No. On another note, do you know how hard it is to find a green dress that doesn't make you look like a slut?"

"Why green?"

"Slytherin, Dobbs, get with it."

"Oh, right."

Like she doesn't show _enough_ house pride as it is.

"And Courtney is in the hospital wing. Probably for an STD." she adds spitefully. "So I couldn't enlist her to help me. The Hogsmeade weekend is next month, so I had to borrow something of Rochelle's, which makes it about two sizes too big. She gained a lot of breakup weight."

"It's fine, Dominique." I sigh, wondering why girls fuss so much about their appearance. I guess it's just one of life's mysteries. "Let's go."

"Channeling a little Calvin Harris, are we Dobbs?"

"Merlin, am I the only person in this school who doesn't get muggle references?"

"Yes." she says. "Face it Dobbs, you're too old school. People are going to start accusing you of becoming the next Tom Riddle."

"Already happened. Scott Day."

Her expression hardens. "He said I had a popularity complex."

"He's a dick. Now seriously, we _need_ to get out of here."

* * *

I am disheartened by the number of people who show to Slughorn's office wearing muggle jeans and t-shirts, but we are not let down by Dominique's cronies/wannabe cronies (like Hannah Spright, who got rejected last year for not knowing all the words to The Ghastly Snowmen's latest single), who all, as predicted by Dominique, all turn up wearing (slightly less fabulous) gowns and dress robes.

"Mr Dobbson!" Slughorn booms, giving Dominique a quick glance. "And Miss Weasley, I see. Forgive the presumption, but are you two...?"

"No." I jump in. ""We're not dating."

As we head to our seats, Dominique claws into my arm, sending me that infamous death glare. "You should have told him we were. He would have lapped it up."

"You forget I have a girlfriend."

"Oh, no." She shakes the blonde curls away from her forehead. "Believe me, I would be the settler in our fake relationship."

"Why exactly would you be the settler?"

"I'm prettier - "

"I'm a dude." I protest. "I can't be _pretty_."

"Smarter. More popular. Wittier. Smoother. I think that about covers it."

"Meaner." I mumble and she kicks me under the table. I let out a gasp of pain, just as Slughorn clears his throat.

"Mr. Dobbson." I turn my head his way, one hand still clasped around my thigh. "Butternut squash soup?"

"Yes, sir." I squeak.

"So. As you all know, my annual Christmas party," he throws out a wink and I feel like drinking bleach. "Is approaching. I was wondering if you all had any ideas for themes?"

"Well," Rochelle says, sending a quick look over my way. "Dominique and I were thinking a night in Paris, you know, for the romantic appeal - "

"Actually," Dominique interrupts. "I had the idea of a 1950s theme. Night in Paris is terribly cliched and the 50s was such a sophisticated, elegant era, I thought it would make the _perfect_ party."

"I suppose." Slughorn says through a mouthful of soup. "Who will be organising this?"

"Any volunteers?" Dominique asks and immediately Rochelle, Hannah and Belinda's hands shoot up, prodding their dates, who reluctantly follow them.

Another kick under the table leads me to do a very, very stupid thing and raise my hand.

"Great." Dominique beams. "I'll organise a meeting for us all."

"That seems like that's sorted then." Slughorn states, calling for the main course to be served. "So, Mr. McLaggen, how's your father?"

* * *

"Why did you do that?"

"Volunteer you?" Dominique asks, dotting the i's on her notebook with hearts. "I needed people to help with the party."

"Not that! I mean, _yes_ that, but why did you just change the theme halfway though?" I snatch the pink-feathered quill off of her so she turns to face me. "Rochelle had something planned."

"What does it bother you? Unless you're having some sort of illicit affair with her - merlin I hope not - it doesn't affect anything you'll be doing."

"You can't just treat people how you feel like!" I sputter, trying to get a grasp on her concept of life, which seems to defy every natural law there is. I mean, what about that wizard who set fire to Zonko's (not that anyone goes there anymore, it's all Weasley's Wizard's Wheezes nowadays) and got struck by lightning the very next day.

"Actually, the Human Rights Act states that I can do whatever the hell I want within legal boundaries, so...shut up Dobbs."

"Karma will catch up with you eventually." I state, beginning to be unsure of myself.

"Karma," Dominique sighs, dipping her quill into a pot of ink, "Is a _bitch_. Now, should the napkins be pink or red?"

"I still think - "

"Don't. I expect to see you at the meeting on Monday."

I can't even be bothered to argue.

* * *

"Have you spoken to Flavia since Friday?" Roxanne asks, unfurling herself onto the black and yellow striped armchair, picking up a stray copy of The Quibbler.

"No."

"Are you going to?"

"No."

"You're a moron." she tells me, admiring a shirtless picture of The Ghastly Snowmen's lead singer.

"No, because I thought that if I appeared like I wasn't all that available, it would add a sense of mystery. Take away the creepy aspect of it."

She pauses, fingers hovering over Harley Tyler's abs (in-picture-form). "That's actually pretty smart."

"What do you think 'he has a great personality' means?" I question anxiously, fiddling with the top button on my collar. "Does that mean I'm not hot?"

"Don't over-analyse everything."

"Oh, and you would know this stuff because?

"I've had a hell of a lot more relationships than you have." Roxanne argues.

"Like?"

"Benjamin Booth, in second year."

It takes a while before the name registers in my mind. "The geeky one?"

"He was hot back then," she protests, flipping the page so violently it nearly rips. "Besides, it's more than you."

"How do you know? I could be Hogwarts' secret bachelor."

"I'm _pretty_ sure that's Scott Day."

Ugh. Stupid git. I almost forgot about him, amidst the whole Dominique drama and everything. He's like Daniel Charlton, mixed with Freddie and Professor Pugh (except with an easier name to pronounce).

"What happened between you two, anyway?" Roxanne asks, as if reading my thoughts.

"He accused me of becoming the next Voldemort!"

"That's ridiculous!" Roxanne exclaims, and I nod my head in approval. "As if a _Hufflepuff_ would become the next Dark Lord. Let alone _you_."

"What's wrong with _me_?" I say indignantly. "I could totally go on a mass-murder spree if I wanted to."

"Please." Roxanne scoffs. "You can barely cast Expelliarmus without crying. The Aurors would catch you within five minutes and arrest you for wasting innocent people's _time_."

"Yeah...well, shut up!"

She lets out a low chuckle and shakes her head as I sulk quietly in the corner.

Merlin, why can't you do me a favour for once and hit Scott-Arsehole-Day with the killing curse?

* * *

"I'm not even going to try and guess this time." I say, settling into the chair next to Flavia, whose humming quietly to herself yet again.

"Oh," she smiles. "Uh, Amy Winehouse."

"Sounds happy."

She scratches out what she just wrote with her quill, turning to me and frowning. "Actually, pretty sad. She died of alcohol poisoning aged twenty seven."

Which cues an awkward silence that seems to last an eternity, filled with shuffling feet, yawning and are-you-looking-at-me-because-I'm-looking-at-you glances.

"Want a biscuit?" she says, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

"Sure." To my relief, she seems to brighten up and hands me a gingersnap.

"Don't let Pince catch you."

"Yeah, I won't." I tap my foot against the floor several times, in a weird, off-beat rhythm. "Where did you get them from?"

"My mother." she raises an eyebrow. "Speaking of, how's yours? I heard about...you know."

"Witch Weekly?"

"What's Witch Weekly?"

I wait for the 'just kidding' that never comes. Seriously? What's Witch Weekly? Even Freddie reads it, and Freddie is...Freddie. It's actually pretty refreshing, how innocent she is to it, instead of being like Dominique Weasley, or Courtney Lowe, or Hannah Spright or nearly every other girl in this fucking school.

"Roxanne told me." she admits.

Her and Roxanne are talking? This is bad news. I can just imagine her feeding Flavia stories about how maybe I wet the bed in second year, or how one time, I accidentally walked in on one of my roommates (the douchey one, whose name I forget) in the middle of..._something_ with a girl (yeah, mental scars huh?) or any other of the countless embarrassing things that have happened to me.

"So, Amy Winehouse, huh? I need to brush up on my muggle studies."

"Oh don't worry," she answers quickly. "You're perfect just the way you are."

I laugh as she scrunches up her nose and turns bright red.

"I said that aloud, didn't I?" Flavia asks, opening one eye tentatively.

"Yeah." I say. "Yeah, you did."

* * *

"Roxanne, you _need_ to teach me about muggle music."

"Need as in how I _need_ the latest Weasley's Wizard Wheezes product - "

"Wait, isn't your dad the manager? Surely he could just - "

"Or need as in how I _need_ food to survive?"

"Somewhere in the middle." I answer, slightly confused.

"Then you don't really need it, do you?" she asks, examining the horoscopes page of her magazine. "Why do you want to learn about muggle music, anyway?"

"To impress Flavia."

"If she needs _impressing_, then she's not worth the trouble."

"That is..." I pause. "The _dumbest_ thing you've ever said."

Roxanne muses over the Aquarius section - 'you will meet new witches and wizards! Be sure to keep an open and creative mind to all things that come you way this month, because you're in for a hectic journey' - paying little attention to what I'm saying, which she can just _tell_ is winding me up.

"Bullshit." she snorts, tossing the Witch Weekly copy back onto the table, then turns back to me. "I wouldn't be able to teach you well."

"Why not?"

"I'm a half-blood like you, and while I may be more culturally refined, I'm still unsure on certain muggle aspects of life. For instance, do you know what Skrillex is? It's been puzzling me recently."

"I think we've established that I'm bad at - "

"However," she continues. "I do know someone who can help you."

"Who?"

"Tom Wallis." she says, an element of pride in her voice. "Seventh year Ravenclaw, known for always wearing black - even make-up, his hatred of the 'man' and his obsession with music, muggle or otherwise. We bonded over our love of Edgar Allan Poe."

"So, he's like...your boyfriend now?"

"He's gay, Alex."

"Oh. And he's going to help me learn about muggle music?"

"He owes me a favour, so yes, I think so."

"Is he scary?"

She rolls her eyes. "Not as much as you on a Monday morning."

* * *

"Let's start at the beginning. We're skipping classical music because only pretentious douches give a fuck about that period of time, and heading straight onto to the proper music - actual singers." Tom says, rubbing his hands (which have the words LOVE and HATE scrawled over them) together. "Repeat after me: Frank Sinatra."

"Frank Sinatra."

"Dean Martin."

"Dean Martin."

"Do you know who they were?" I shake my head, trying not to stare at his nose piercing. "Singers from around the 1940s. Both Italian-American, both symbols of Music History, although Martin himself was largely influenced by Sinatra, who was influenced by Billie Holliday and Bing Crosby. Popular songs include Fly Me to the Moon, Somethin' Stupid, That's Amore and Ain't That a Kick in the Head."

"Slow down." I say, pulling out my quill and parchment and copying what he said.

"Other notable musicians of the 1940s include Ella Fitzgerald, Glenn Miller, Nat King Cole, Louis Armstrong..."

Tom drones on for another five minutes, by which point I am almost asleep, until he concludes what he was saying upon Benny Goodman, draws a breath and firmly shuts his mouth, much to my relief.

Seriously though, why did I decide to do this? To impress a girl who I'm already sort-of-kind-of-not-really dating?

"Homework," he tells me, "Find out the names of all four Beatles."

"When is the next lesson?"

"Next Monday," he says, adjusting his glasses a little. "At 6:00pm sharp."

"Fine." I reply, rolling my eyes on the inside. "I'll see if I can make it."

* * *

"Dobbs." Dominique says, giving a thin smile and locking her hands together. "Glad you could make it."

"Do we really have to do this _now_? The Christmas party is in..." I sit there for a couple of seconds, counting in my head, "Seventy-three days. It's not like we don't have time."

"At fifty house points each, we make time, Dobbs. Don't you want Hufflepuff to at least have a chance at winning the House Cup? Not that they _do_."

An award mainly, for the last six years at least, won by Slytherin, because Dominique Weasley always gets what she wants, even if it means cheating, sucking up to and manipulating the teachers into doing it. And every year (except first, if I remember), there's a massive party in Slytherin House - Serpentpalooza, so dorkily named by Freddie, which only the Snakes themselves (and the occasional Ravenclaw like Courtney Lowe) attend.

Of course, the last two years meant the party was on a smaller scale (and without Weasley to help them, Slytherin only just won), but this year, with Domimique back, I have a feeling it will be an explosion (except of glitter and mini-profiteroles - and firewhisky, instead of actual flames).

"Not really."

"Well you're doing it." she gives me that icy glare that could kill a man if it wanted to. "Or so help me Merlin, I will make sure that you never set foot in Hogwarts again."

"Do you realise how easily you give death threats? For like the _slightest_ things."

The rest of the committee (mostly fake blondes and their dumb jock boyfriends) watch the power struggle between Dominique and I with bated breath, practically on the edge of their seats as she pauses, looks me squarely in the eye and says...

"Get to your seat Dobbs."

I sit down, slightly disappointed, next to Hannah Spright, whose eyes seem to have expanded to the size of saucers and drum my fingers against the table as Dominique begins to speak.

"Costumes." she says, motioning to her robes. "I want to see everyone in fancy dress. Literally, I want someone on the door kicking people who aren't wearing 1950s getup _out_. Matt, are you volunteering to do that? Okay, thank you. And before you all ask, and I know you will, my outfit is _strictly_ a secret."

I marvel at the number of downcast moans there are from the people in the room.

"Invites - Rochelle, I'm trusting you with that. Didn't your parents make you go to Calligraphy Camp in the summer of second year? Oh, I'm sorry, was that supposed to be kept quiet?"

Rochelle gives an embarrassed little nod.

"Rochelle's boyfriend - don't know or care about your name - you can work on the invite list. Only Slug Club members, and their dates," her eyes sweep over us all briefly, "who I presume you will let us know about in advance."

"How soon is 'in advance?'" Hannah Spright asks, and Dominique gives her a condescending look.

"You people _must_ know if you can get a date or not. For a brief reminder: look at yourself in the mirror. If you're like this - " she gestures to herself. "Check yes. But if you're like, say...Emily Midgeon, tick _no_."

Ah, Emily Midgeon. Seventh year Hufflepuff and perpetual stereotype for ugly people.

"Music - Hannah, I'm begrudgingly allowing you to do that one. Either a live band - covering a 50s song of course, or a music spell - I think the incantation is Cantus, but you might need to check that."

Hannah nods and finishes writing it all down, tucking the parchment into her pocket.

"Belinda and Sienna, you're in charge of Decorations - I want Christmas somehow blended in with the 1950s, I saw the most _perfect_ checkered tablecloth the other day, and I think there's a shop in Hogsmeade that sells vintage antiques, so look into that."

"Last of all - food. Elijah, you can do the allergy list, I don't want any more Eve Allen incidents - "

Explanation: a Ravenclaw who was sorted when we were in third year, and at at the welcoming feast accidentally swallowed some shrimp and nearly died because of it.

"Or should I say Flavia, Dobbs?"

"That got around?"

She lifts an eyebrow. "Of course it did. Harriet and Kai, you can hire the House Elves and Dobbs, you're left with the menu."

"How am I supposed to know what people ate in the 50s?"

"Oh, I don't know, a _book_? From the _library_? Or you could ask Rachel Bryant. I'm sure she knows _all_ about the history of food, judging by her appearance."

"You're a real bitch, did you know that?"

"Since the day I was born, Dobbs." she waves everybody off out of the room, stopping to exchange a few words with Rochelle then turning back to me. "Since the day I was born."

* * *

I don't own:

Harry Potter

The Cure (just like a dream - which is a Just Like Heaven reference, and Weasleys don't cry, which comes from Boys Don't Cry)

The Reacher/Settler theory, which comes from HIMYM (was anyone else bitterly disappointed by the final episode?)

Ralph Lauren

Amy Winehouse

Frank Sinatra

Classical Music

Dean Martin

Billie Holliday

Bing Crosby

Ain't That A Kick In the Head

Fly Me to The Moon

Ella Fitzgerald

Glenn Miller

Nat King Cole

That's Amore

Louis Armstrong

Benny Goodman

The Beatles

Calvin Harris

**A/N**: This took me _forever_ to write. So, I want to know which character you guys think you would be if you were in SAKMTRGA (a.k.a what you're reading right now)? Leave your answer in the review section! Oh, and I'm always open for questions as well.

Virtual hugs to **Beach, Coconuts, Elephants** (sorry, for some reason it won't let me type your proper username) for reviewing last chapter (I think...might have been the one before that), to **iluvbookfandom**s and **broken melody x** for reviewing Broken Hearts and Butterflies, and **Katconan** for reviewing Bitterness.

To answer some questions, yes Louis and Alice will appear but the Metamorphosis timeline is screwed up in terms of (dammit, what's the word I'm looking for?...) alignment (sounds wrong but just go with it) with SAKMTRGA, so at this point he's still stalking her from afar. In conclusion - because I tend to ramble on endlessly, see I'm doing it now - you might have to wait a while.

Teaser for next chapter:

Literally I have no idea what I'm going to write. I have a little notebook with plans for each chapter, but being a total idiot, I lost it.

I have just one spoiler that I remember:

Dominique doesn't get an invite to the party (is anyone reminded of Sleeping Beauty at this point?)


	6. Professor Pugh and the Infinite Tuesday

Do you ever just wake up and think, Merlin I _hate_ Tuesdays? Think about it. Tuesday is the worst day of the week. Over the weekend you've probably developed at least some longing to go back to school - all of which disapparates on Monday, but at least it's there.

But Tuesday, the only thing you can think through the whole day is 'four more days to go, four more days to go, four more fucking _days_ to go.'

Which, if you think about it, makes Tuesday the worst day of the week.

It also makes it last _forever_.

* * *

_Merlin this class lasts forever - A_

_I know right? I wish Pugh would just get the sack already - R_

_And she never marks our homework - A_

_Even though she sets it every single lesson - R_

_I think we should complain - A_

_Alex, nobody complains about their teacher. It's like, the golden rule - R_

_Why? - A_

_If the teacher doesn't get fired, then they'll make your life a living hell - R_

_Isn't there like, a witness protection programme? - A_

_This is Hogwarts, Alex, not a crime drama - R_

_But there must be something we can do - A_

_We could...- R_

_What? - A_

_Never mind - R_

_No, seriously, what? - A_

_It would require stooping to the level of my cousin - R_

_Albus? - A_

_The other one - R_

_Oh - A_

_Yeah - R_

_What is it then? - A_

_If we found some dirt on her, we could probably get her fired. - R_

_But that would mean breaking into her office, stealing her personal files and invading her privacy. We could get expelled - A_

_Exactly - R_

_Let's do it - A_

* * *

"Are you insane?" Roxanne hisses as we get out the door. "We're not pulling some acton-movie scheme on Pugh! We'll get kicked out of Hogwarts, with no regrets!"

"Tom Riddle never got expelled for all the shit he did." I point out. "Neither did your uncle."

"That was different." Roxanne protests."Everything my uncle did was to save the Wizarding world. Not to get a teacher _fired_."

"What about _Umbridge_?"

"You completely missed the point of that. Umbridge was _physically_ _abusing_ her students."

"Pugh is _psychologically_ _abusing_ us."

"Look, Alex," Roxanne sighs, "If you want help, you're not going to find it here. Go find someone else to help you with your little plan."

"Fine. Maybe I will. You'd like that wouldn't you?"

"What are you, five?"

"What are you, five?"

"You're so childish."

"No, _you're_ so childish."

"_Grow up_."

I shut up.

* * *

"Alex. Although it is nice to see you coming to me with your problems, surely you have classes?"

I pull out the small, pink wooden chair and sit, arms folded, scarcely believing I'm doing this. "I'm on my break."

"Actually, I think second period starts right about - "

"Sir - "

"Scott." he reminds me, tossing out a good-natured smile.

"I have a complaint about a teacher."

"Mr. Dobbs." he says sternly. "As I am just the Hogwarts Guidance Counsellor - although it is a very important job - I do not think that I am allowed to take concerns about staff - unless they come from the staff themselves. Such accusations - "

"I haven't even said anything yet!"

"Would be best taken to another teacher, or Minerva."'

I nearly gag at the first-name usage.

"But sir - "

"_Out_, Alex."

* * *

"Students of Hogwarts!" Nearly-Headless Nick announces, clearing his throat slightly to gather the attention of the corridor - who are all, like me, wandering aimlessly to their next classes. "If I could just take up a minute of your time - "

Several people look up at him, shake their head and walk away, but a few others - like me - (trying to avoid Potions as usual) stay and listen.

"You might know that, in approximately - " he counts on his fingers. "Forty-two days, it is the anniversary of my death. And every twenty-five years or so, I throw a party. So, I'd like to invite all students of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff to my five hundred and twenty fifth death-day."

"That's not fair!" The voice comes from a Slytherin first-year - the Malfoy boy I think - in protest, standing up and looking Nick squarely in the eye. "Why can't Slytherins come?"

"Well...uh..." Nick stutters, "Certain ones will be invited if they want to come - but otherwise it's a very small gathering - "

"Of all the other houses?"

"Yes, but I'm preparing for only a selection of students attending - obviously, they can't all make it, and ghosts as well, of course."

"So what about the bloody baron?" Malfoy asks.

"I've asked him and he already refused my offer."

"I can bloody well see why!"

"What's going on here?" Dominique Weasley interrupts, cutting through the crowd that is beginning to form. "Some of us are trying to get to class."

"I was just saying, Miss Weasley, that my quadranscentennial - "

"I don't think that's a word - "

"Deathday anniversary is coming up. All students of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw have been invited and I was just about to add - "

"No Slytherin?" Her tone is innocent, demure, as though she is actually asking a question, but as somebody who has known Dominique Weasley for the past six years, I can tell that's not her intention, and I can pick out the edge of bitchiness behind her words.

"Well, select pupils will be notified, but - "

She flicks her head (whacking some poor person in the face with all those strands of hair) round and strides down the hallway, posse all jogging to catch up with her, not looking back.

I have to admit, she does do it with style.

* * *

"I can't believe this." she fumes, even two hours later, stirring the Sleeping Draught with such force, little droplets of it come spilling out. "How could he?"

"It's just a preference of guest."

"It's racism." Dominique crunches up the powder and tosses it into the cauldron.

"Maybe he doesn't want people to bring trouble."

"Oh, so he chooses to eliminate Slytherin house from his guest list? We're not all evil, heartless bastards you know."

"Really? I thought those were your defining traits."

She tosses some Flobberworm mucus at me angrily, continuing to mix the valerian sprigs into the now bluish potion and mumbling under her breath.

"Sir," I say, stepping aside for a minute to talk to Professor Slughorn, who is grading some homework absent-mindedly, hands resting sloppily over his forehead.

"Yes, Mr Dobbson?" He blows his nose into the handkerchief loudly. I take a few steps backward.

"I...uh...have a complaint about a certain teacher and I thought that I'd come to you sir."

"If it's about Professor Flitwick's old man smell, I'm afraid I've already talked to him about that."

"No, uh, actually sir, it's about Professor Pugh."

He tenses up, moving the sheets of paper to his shelf quickly. "I'm afraid topics of that nature will have to go to your head of house, Mr. Dobbson, or perhaps Professor McGonagall."

I back off.

So, today, I learnt that all my teachers are cowards. Yeah, great job education system. You're sending me a really great message.

What's so scary about Professor Pugh anyway? Why is everyone intimidated by those fake pink nails and that bright red lipstick? Why does our society immediately get scared of the bitchy, mean girls like Dominique? Why are we all incapable of standing up to them?

**ARGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!**

* * *

"What were you talking to Slughorn about?" Dominique asks, not even turning around to acknowledge me.

"Nothing important." I shrug, taking my seat.

"Are you going to Nick's party?"

"I'm not going to take you." I say, rolling my eyes. I'll probably take Flavia...if I haven't screwed it all up by then. Maybe I just won't go. So much effort, you know? Getting out of bed, getting dressed - in fancy clothes as well - actually _moving_. Ugh.

"Shut up." she mutters, more to herself then me.

"Why is this such a big deal to you anyway?" Then, slowly, it dawns on me. "Have you never _not_ been invited to a party before?"

She freezes. "There's probably a party somewhere in the world every day, Dobbs, it's not like I can attend all of them."

"OK, A - 98% of statistics are made up - "

"Like that one - "

"And B, you know what I mean."

"Well, it's not like anyone in this school has ever thrown a party I've not been invited to."

"Seriously? What about...you know, the unpopular people?"

Still, I have my doubts, because despite what most of them will tell you, they're actually seeking acceptance from the 'cool' side of Hogwarts. Pfft. Posers. At least I don't pretend. I actually _like_ being a dork.

"The losers?" Dominique snorts. "Do they even count as human-beings? Besides, generally, I _choose_ not to go to their lame hipster gatherings."

"Then why is this so important to you?"

"It's not, okay!" she hisses at me. "I mean, you know what else happens every twenty-five years? The Quarter Quell."

"What's the Quarter - "

"And it's probably going to be totally lame - "

"Look, Dominique," I say, being hit by a sudden wave of inspiration. "I will get you that invitation to the party, if you do me a favour."

"If you're offering up an Indecent Proposal type of thing, Dobbs, no, I will _not_ sleep with you."

Good luck trying to get _that_ picture out of my head. *shudder*

"No. You see, I was thinking - "

"A rarity."

"And you're the most scheming, manipulative person I know."

"Thank you."

"Is that...is that the first time you've said that to me?"

"Think so."

"Anyway, I need you to help me get a teacher fired."

She pauses, stoppering the vial with our potion (when I say our, I did none of the work). "Depends which teacher it is."

"I'm not going to say it out loud! I...I need a quill and paper or something." I fumble around for a scrap bit of parchment, pulling out my pockets (which contain, to my displeasure, numerous bits of fluff and empty sweet wrappers).

"Dobbs," Dominique says, grabbing my arm, "Dobbs, just tell me who the damn teacher is."

"Pugh." I whisper.

"Pugh? What've you got against Pugh? Sure her classes are like watching paint dry, but she's okay herself."

"I want to get her the sack."

"Look, Dobbs. If this is something you came up with while you were bored in the middle of defence against the dark arts - "

"Which it was _not_." I bluff.

"Then I'm not helping you. But if you have a serious, legitimate reason to hate her, then I'll _consider_ it. Now seeing as you did none of the work, I'm only writing my name on here." She does as she says, labelling the potion 'WEASLEY' with a pink, glittery gel pen.

Then it hits me.

Lying, is something I can either be very good, or very bad at. Most of the time I'm good. See, that was a lie. I am in fact pretty awful at the skill - being a kind, honest little Hufflepuff it doesn't come naturally to me, like it does to say a particular Weasley (insert subtle cough), but occasionally, it does pay off, even with as un-gullible (is that a word? now it is) a target as Dominique.

"You know, uh...last year?" I say, praying to almighty Merlin that she believes me. "Pugh said you were fat."

"What? I don't believe you."

"Yeah, uh, we were studying the body change charm, and she said that in cases where people were of a certain size, the charm wouldn't work. And then she was all like 'say if we used Dominique Weasley.'"

She is silent for a minute, the look on her face similar to that a wolf gets before it attacks it's prey, that look of intense concentration mixed with indestructible fury, the one that says a certain Dobbson just won.

(and it's not the one shagging Zacharias Smith)

"We're taking that bitch down."

* * *

"Is this our thing now?" I ask, rubbing my hands together. "We're like...partners in crime?"

"No." Dominique replies, taking out her wand and pointing it ahead of her. I copy, not entirely sure what I'm doing but having fun anyway. "Keep your voice down."

"Everyone's having lunch anyway."

"The portraits?"

"There aren't any portraits in this corridor."

She stays silent.

"Whoa, wait, what? Did...did I just _best_ Dominique Weasley...in an argument?"

"No." she snaps again.

"Um...I'd like to thank my mum for this achievement. My best friend Roxanne as well, you've been a great help to me, Mike the caretaker..."

"The caretaker's name is Filch."

"Dramatic effect. How am I supposed to know who takes care of this place?"

"Oh, I don't know, the _sorting_?" Dominique says, turning the corner, wand still facing straight ahead.

"That happened, like six years ago."

Ugh, my sorting sucked. I mostly just blanked it all out from my mind. Professor McGonagall called my name and I got up and everything, but then it turned out that she had accidentally skipped someone, so face bright red and all, before the sorting hat had been placed in my head, I had to walk, in shame, back through all the crowds, back to my place, where I stood for about a minute before it was actually my turn.

Then after I had been sorted, all the other Hufflepuffs at the table kept staring at me, some because of that incident, or because I was sorted so fast (one guy asked if I had bribed the sorting hat. I mean, who bribes the sorting hat to be in _Hufflepuff_ for fucks sake?)

It was a very awkward, very painful experience, that I would not like to relive again.

"There's one every year, moron. You're such a Dobbs."

"What? That doesn't even make sense. My name is Dobbs, yes, how is that an _insult_?"

"Because it's pretty much synonymous with the word stupid."

"Oh, haha, very funny. You know what else is funny? Your - "

"We're here." she interrupts, showing me to the bright pink (not that I could expect anything less of Pugh).

"Is there anyone inside?"

"I don't know. Let me use my gadget from one of the old muggle spy films." she says, and for a minute I get excited, forgetting exactly who I'm talking to (Dominique Weasley - the queen of sarcasm)

"Really? You have one of those?"

"No. Homenium Revelio!"

I stand and wait as, to my disappointment, nothing happens. "Is that it? I didn't feel anything."

"That's the _point_." Dominique explains, voice dripping with condescension. "There's nobody in there."

"Okay, you go in and raid her desk, while I stand and keep guard. I'll be whistling Somethin' Stupid - "

"Where the hell did you learn Frank Sinatra?"

"Not important, but the point is, if I stop whistling, you're in trouble."

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"

"If I stop whistling, you're in trouble."

"Again, please?" she calls from inside the office, shuffling through the papers, then stuffing them back into the cupboard quickly.

"I said if I stop whistling - you're pranking me, aren't you?"

"Yes." she says, reappearing by my side, plastic folder in hand, hair slightly messy (which is sure to be her top priority in fixing later). "I got it. Let's go."

"Are you sure she's not going to miss it?"

"Of course she's going to miss it Dobbs," Dominique snaps with more force than I feel is necessary. "That's why I duplicated the folder."

"Oh. Good."

* * *

We walk in silence for a while, arms just swinging aimlessly along until I decide to restart the conversation.

"So, for graduation - "

"Why are you thinking about graduation already?" she asks, examining her curls in her pocket mirror as predicted. "We're only in sixth year."

"It's my one thing to look forward to Weasley, don't take that away from me."

"That's stupid."

"I know. Life sucks for _me_, right? Anyway, I was thinking we could have yearbooks. With awards and stuff, like most handsome - which will be going to yours truly, of course."

"Okay, number one: who the fuck told you about yearbooks? Because they sure as hell aren't a wizard tradition, and you aren't exactly the most muggle guy around."

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Sure, I may not be able to tell you who Justin Bieber is (Bieber? Is that right? He sounds weird anyway), but I am actually more wizard than Dominique, if she'd care to notice. My dad is a muggle, and yes, I may not actually know him, but he still counts. Whereas Dominique, despite all her muggle pretences, is actually a Pureblood, so I boast superiority.

Yeah, when you look at it, I was raised in a Pureblood environment, while she was encouraged to socialise and learn about muggles, but that's all semantics my friend, because I am a half-blood, and she is a white, rich, Pureblood which automatically means I have more right to the victim complex than her.

Of course, I don't actually say any of this to her face.

"Roxanne," I shrug. "Explained the idea to me. I thought it sounded pretty cool."

"Number two - don't you dare laugh at that Dobbs, you immature little bastard - we don't live in an American high school sitcom."

"See that, that is the top candidate for most cynical right there everybody!" I let out a low whistle and fake-clap as she grows increasingly more annoyed.

"Number three - you most handsome, seriously?"

"Well since Daniel Charlton won't be there, yeah totally."

I don't think I'm that bad-looking. Sure I'm no Harley Tyler (who all the girls drool over for absolutely no reason) - even though we both can't sing (cue laughter and 'ooohhhhh buuuuuurrrrrrnnnn sound), but yeah, I wouldn't consider myself to be too bad. Maybe a seven out of ten. I think it's my body that lets me down (because I am the size of a house elf). I'm like, the opposite of a butterface (except it wouldn't work anyway because I'm a dude)

"Uh, what about Gabriel Robson?"

"May I just say that all the best-looking guys have surnames ending with obson?"

"No, you may not."

"Besides, he picks his nose. All the way through Herbology fourth year."

"Jude Holloway." Dominique suggests.

"He has a girls name - "

"It's unisex, actually."

"And he sweats like a pig in heat."

She pauses. "Kieran Law."

"Smells like feet."

"Alfie Gordon."

"Cries at everything." I retort, triumphant.

"Callum Willis."

"Awful kisser."

"And you would know this how?"

"We guys like to practice our technique. It's sort of a weekly routine in our dormitory." She covers up her mouth to hide the smile that I'm sure is lurking underneath there. "Flavia dated him."

I hear her cough out something that sounds an awful lot like 'slut' but I decide not to pursue it any further.

"So is this what you spend your time doing then?" she asks. "Comparing yourself to other guys? Is that what you and your girlfriend talk about?"

"Well, we can't all be all party and cosmopolitan like you, Weasley."

"Oh, and number four, why did you ask _me_?"

"Are you kidding? You're like, the queen of this school."

"I prefer the word 'leader.' More gender-friendly. Queen seems demeaning." she pats her bun into place, finally putting away the mirror.

"Everyone looks up to you. It's weird, but true. People have more respect for those they're scared of. I think it's the incessant need for everyone to like you, and that's why they single out the cold, aloof bitch to focus their time on. And your confidence does at least make for interesting conversation, which most - "

"Dobbs?"

"Yeah?"

"We're here."

"Oh, okay."

* * *

_So how did your little scheme with my cousin go? - R_

_Good - A_

_Oh yeah? - R_

_Yeah - A_

_Are you guys like **friends** now? - R_

_No - A_

_Sure? - R_

_Yes, why? - A_

_I just don't want you running off and ditching me for the popular side of Hogwarts - R_

_Right, because they'll totally accept me - A_

_We could pull a Cady Heron and infiltrate them - R_

_I don't know who that is - A_

_Muggle film. Anyway, what's Pugh's deal? She like You Know Who's reincarnation or what? - R_

_Don't know. Dominique and I are meeting after class to find out. - A_

_Why didn't you just work it out after you stole the file? - R_

_I had to skip lunch as it is, I couldn't afford to be late to lessons - A_

_Oh. It was pasta. - R_

_Dammit - A_

* * *

"Are we going to read it then?" I ask, waiting for Dominique to open the file, trying not to look as bored as I feel.

"So, Dom, I was wondering if you could fix me up with someone for the Christmas party?" I glare at Belinda from across the table, mentally willing her to shut the hell up. "Hogwarts simply doesn't have enough eligible bachelors anymore. Why is it so hard to find a boy that's hot, rich and perfect?"

"I still don't get why they have to be here, I mean - "

"Well," Courtney cuts in, (appearing to have drastically recovered from her stint in the hospital wing, although the bags under her eyes have become more apparent. I wonder if she really was in there for an STD. It wouldn't be all that surprising) "I heard that a Malfoy comes here now."

"Malfoy? As in, the first year?" Dominique replies, distate creeping onto her face. "Merlin, that's low, Courtney, even for you."

(I hate to agree, but it is kind of creepy)

"I'm _sorry_." Courtney says, without any real apology behind it. "But have you seen his father? What I wouldn't do to that - "

"Besides, Belinda," Dominique interrupts, clearly (much like I) not wanting to venture any further. "Don't you already have a boyfriend?"

"We split up. It was a mutual thing, we just weren't clicking - "

"Bad in bed?" Dominique guesses and I try to stop the bile rising in my throat. I let out a small squeak instead.

"No, I know." Rochelle says proudly, smile showing off all of those _incredibly_ white (probably bleached or something) teeth. "His dad's company went bust."

They all give those fake little laughs (the ones that girls think boys find attractive, but they really don't) while Belinda goes bright red and nods. I, however, begin to worry. Is that what girls really want? Someone rich? I mean, my mum may be a Pureblood, but we're not exactly the...I don't know..._Potters_ of the world. Or the Lowes (I'm still not entirely sure what Courtney's dad does - oh look, how sad, I'm taking an interest - but apparently they are absolutely _loaded_).

"Can we start now?" I jump in, pointing to the file, feeling myself begin to shake (as. I do when I am nervous).

"Fine, Dobbs, keep your hair on," Dominique sighs, then glances up towards the top of my head. "On second thought, don't."

"Yeah, get a haircut!" Courtney adds. (merlin, _how_ much of a butt-kisser?) "You look like you're homeless."

"Look," I say, trying to keep my cool. "I didn't come here to be insulted. If I did, you're all doing a very good job. I came here to invade a teacher's privacy, possibly get her expelled and get away with it. Speaking of, why are we doing this in the library? Anyone could hear us."

"It's empty." Dominique argues, rolling her eyes.

"Madam Pince?"

"Who is about five hundred - "

"Oh, so she has possession of the philosophers stone now, does she?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise you knew what that was."

"Can we just open the damn file?" Rochelle says, trying to mediate between us and I shake my head.

"No. You," I send a glare to Rochelle, Belinda and Courtney in turn, "_three_ people are not getting your grubby little french manicures on this thing."

"They stay." Dominique states, peeling off the plastic and hauling out the pieces of parchment. "Merlin, couldn't they have made this thing neater? Look at that. Smudge marks." she eyes the thing with disgust.

"What does it say?" I ask impatiently.

She stares at the file, a blank expression appearing on her face, speechless (something that _never_ happens with Dominique Weasley, let me tell you).

"What...what is it?" I ask, growing worried. "Weasley?"

"Courtney, Belinda, the rest of you," she says, pointing towards the library door. "Get out."

I begin to get up and go, but she pulls me by the scruff of my neck and slams me back into my seat. "Not you, moron."

"What...is she?"

"She's had three husbands." Dominique says, passing over the sheets. "All very wealthy. All died within two weeks of their marriage. Oh, and she's a drug mule for the state of Mexico."

"Wait, it doesn't say any of this on here - " I come to my senses. "Oh."

"She's a perfectly normal person - and if she weren't, why the hell would it list those things on her school file? So, next time you get bored in class, just play Gobstones or something. Don't bother me with your stupid troubles."

"But she's still an awful teacher." I protest, kind of disappointed. "She doesn't mark anyone's homework - "

"Really? Well she gave me back my assignment last lesson, and I got an O. I'm also starting to think you made the fat thing up. Do you realise how sketchy talking about a girl's weight is, Dobbs? Do you? Do you?"

"I'm sorry."

"You'd better be." she says, muttering to herself. "Douchebag."

* * *

"Hello?" I call out to the empty hallway. "Hello? Can anyone hear me?" I struggle against the wall (about ten feet above the ground) pretty sure that Weasley put a permanent sticking charm on my back.

Nobody answers.

"It's dark!" I shout. "I'm scared!"

I'm sorry, but when I was young, my mum told me this story about 'the shadow creature' (she really should have made her tales more age-appropriate) who would come at night and eat you up. Nowadays, I know that's not true (obviously), but what I do know is that the dark is a breeding ground for vampires, dark wizards and muggle youths with knives.

Plus, it's really humiliating being stuck (like this ladybird Freddie once placed in glue - hey I never said he was a nice guy) on my back against the wall, so high you can't get down, and with some invisible force taping you to the wall. The back pain as well - merlin, I can't even _stand up_ for an hour without getting tired.

"Somebody help me? Please?"

* * *

_Merlin_, I hate Tuesdays.

* * *

I don't own:

Harry Potter

Tuesday (or any other day of the week)

The Smashing Pumpkins (the chapter title is a very, very bad pun in reference to Mellon Collie and The Infinite Sadness)

A crime drama of any sort (though that would be pretty badass, right?)

The Quarter Quell (which I think most people will know, but I'll go ahead and say it anyway: it's the Hunger Games)

Somethin' Stupid, or Frank Sinatra (I don't remember if I mentioned this last chapter, but that's my favourite of his songs, and currently, one of the only muggle songs Alex knows how to sing)

Justin Bieber (thank God)

American High School Sitcoms (this was inspired by the too-many hours of Netflix)

**A/N**: So I think this was kind of a filler chapter for you guys (still missing that notebook), but thankfully I remember the plot of the next chapter (and after that it's a blank until about chapter thirty-one), as listed below.

I'm going to repeat the question from last week...because, um (awkward silence) nobody replied: **which character** from SAKMTRGA (did I spell that acronym right last time?), or what you are reading, **do you think you would be**?

Virtual hugs to **PlentyOfBooks** for reviewing last chapter, **articcat621** for reviewing This Disease Called Love and **JadedLights07** for reviewing DYWTKAS (the full title is on my profile, I just hate writing these things out).

Teaser for next chapter:

Alex gives Flavia life lessons, Quidditch practise occurs and Fred II reappears.


	7. Not An Update

Hi, not an update, sorry, just a note to let you guys know that I'm thinking of discontinuing this fic. If not, the next chapter will take a while longer, because I have serious writer's block when it comes to getting through it and it all depends on if I actually get the inspiration to finish it. I'm also working on starting another multi-chapter, so it's getting hard for me to carry this on.

If anyone wants to adopt it, you could always PM me. : )

Sorry (for both not carrying on and the not-an-update) bye!

A xxx


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